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HANDY DRAMAS 



FOR 



AMATEUR ACTORS 



NEW PIECES FOR HOME, 
SCHOOL AND PUBLIC 
ENTER T A I N M E N T 



BY 

GEORGE M. BAKER 

AUTHOR OF "AMATEUR DRAMAS," "THE MIMIC STAGE," "THE 

SOCIAL STAGE," "THE DRAWING ROOM STAGE," 

"THE EXHIBITION DRAMA," ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED 



BOSTON: 
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK: 
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM 



HANDY DRAMAS 

FOR AMATEUR ACTORS 



NEW PIECES 

FOR 

florae, School anti public Entertainment 



T -» •. 



r t9 1904 



BY 



GEORGE M. BAKER 



3 f 



•(Illustrated) 



CONTAINING 



The Flower of the Family 
A Mysterious Disappearance 
Above the Clouds 
Shall Our Mothers Vote 



Paddle Your Own Canoe 
One Hundred Years Ago 
The Little Brown Jug 
Seeing the Elephant 



Copyrigh -, 1876, by George M. Baker 

COPYKIGHT, 1904, BY EMILY F. BaKER (iN RENEWAL. 




CONTENTS. 



-»<>•- 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. . Comedy. 3 Acts. 

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. Farce. 1 

ABOVE THE CLOUDS Drama. 2 

SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? . Farce. 1 

PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. . . Farce. 1 

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. . . Drama. 2 

THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. . . Drama. 3 

SEEING THE ELEPHANT. . . . Farce. 1 



Page 

. 3 

. 73 

. 99 

. 1G9 

. 189 

. 219 

. 269 

. 333 



All the Plays in this book are sold separately. Price 15 cents. 



PKEFACE. 



-•o*- 



This volume, like the previous issues of the "Ama- 
teur Drama Series," owes its appearance to the success 
of its predecessors, and the always brisk demand for 
new pieces adapted to the capabilities of non-profes- 
sional actors, a rapidly increasing class, whose efforts 
are as often put forth with commendable spirit in the 
cause of Charity, as for the amusement and entertainment 
of themselves, their neighbors and friends. Of the 
" Handy Dramas " herein published, " Above the 
Clouds," "The Flower of the Family," "A Mysterious 
Disappearance," " Paddle your own Canoe," and " Shall 
Our Mothers Vote ? " are now first published. The 
remaining three were published separately, and are 
now republished that they may have a place in the 
uniform series. In the preparation of this class of pieces 
the author is necessarily restricted in his outlay of 
scenery, the item "regardless of expense," so often 
used on the play-bills, being unknown in the amateur 
code, where economy of scenery, properties, costumes, 

5 



6 PEEFACE. 

and even stage room, is often a serious consideration. 
Still, with all these drawbacks, the previous ventures 
in this line have oftentimes had a remarkable success. 
The author, therefore, is well satisfied with his " recep- 
tions " among amateurs, and trusts that on this occasion 
they will have no reason to find fault with their old 
acquaintance as he offers his sixth volume for their 

inspection. 

G. M. B. 

No. 207 West Speingfield St., Boston. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS. 



CHARACTERS. 

Abner Howland, a Merchant. 

Oscar Loring, his Ward. 

Tom Howland, his Nephew. 

Policy Newcomb, an Insurance Agent. 

Spicer Spofford, Clerk in an Insurance Office. 

Mrs. Gordon Howland, a Widow. 

Alice Howland, her Daughter. 

Lina Howland, Abner's adopted Daughter. 



COSTUMES. 
Modern and appropriate Summer Dresses. 

Abner. Light pants; white vest; shoes; white stockings; 

Panama hat ; long, white hair ; dark coat, thin. 
Oscar. First dress : Dark pants, tucked into long boots ; blue 

flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up; red handkerchief tied about 

his head. Second dress : Light suit, with straw hat, blue 

ribbon. 
Policy Newoomb. Light pants; white vest, very long thin 

gray coat; broad- brimmed straw hat; bald wig, with red 

curly hair, and "dabs " of side-whiskers. 
Spicer Spofford. Very fashionable suit; light curly wig; 

light mustache ; eye-glass and cane. 

3 



4 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mrs. Gordon Howland. Black bombazine dress; white 

widow's cap ; neat gray hair. 
Alice. ) Act 1 : Pretty muslin morning dresses. Acts 2 and 3 : 



lice. ) 
[na. y 



Lina. y Afternoon dresses, to suit taste. 

This play is modelled after the now fashionable "Society" 
plays, where taste in setting the stage, and in the selection of 
apparel for both male and female characters, is indispensably 
necessary to success. No extravagant characters — with the 
exception of " Spofford," something of the " Dundreary " style, 
and Newcomb, of the "Col. Sellers" type — are introduced; 
the author's design being to present an every-day story, with a 
home setting, in which people we meet are the actors. 

207 Springfield Street, 

Boston, July 25, 1876. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



Act I. — Scene : Handsome apartment in Abner 
Howland's house. Doors opening to garden, c. in 
flat. Windovi l. in flat, with lace curtain. Easy- 
chair at window. Mantel with clock ; vases and or- 
naments r. Tinder mantel, work-basket, with chair 
beside it. Door l. l. c. opposite door, table with 
damask cover, writing materials on it. Mrs. How- 
land in chair l. of table, sewing. Abner How- 
land seated r. of table, with newspaper. 

Abner. Now I'm not going into a passion. I don't 
blame yon, sister, but I say, emphatically and decidedly, 
this absurd flirtation must be stopped. 

Mrs. H. But, Abner — 

Abner. Don't but against my decision. I can't, 
shan't, and won't allow it. This fop, this dandy, this 
Spicer Spofford, — bah! the name's enough to sicken 
one, — has gained access to my house on the pretence 
that he was a dear friend of your husband, my brother. 
Pretence, mind you, for Gordon was a plain, blunt 
man, thirty years older than this whipper-snapper. Do 
you suppose Gordon could have formed a friendship 
with this walking clothes-horse, who is no credit to 
anybody but his tailor ? 

5 



6 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mrs. H. Don't be unjust, Abner; you know noth- 
ing against the man, and he can make himself very- 
agreeable. 

Abner. So it seems ; for without as much as " by 
your leave" to me, her adopted father, he makes 
love to Lina. It's absurd, ridiculous ! He's a fortune- 
hunter. 

Mrs. H. Ah, there you are wrong, for by your de- 
sire Lina passes for my daughter. 

Abner. True ; when I went abroad, ten years ago, I 
left this child of an old friend — a child whom I had 
adopted — to be brought up by you, to call you " moth- 
er " and me " uncle," for then I had made up my mind 
she should marry my ward, Oscar Loiing, on his 
return. Gordon was a poor man then, and I feared, 
were it known that she was to be the heiress of a rich 
old bachelor, some fortune-hunter would snatch her 
before my return. 

Mrs^H. I suspected this was your intention. 

Abner. I've no doubt of it. Trust a woman for 
smelling a match. Well, I came back a year ago to 
find that Gordon had embarked in speculation, gained 
a small fortune, but, continuing his risks, had lost all, 
and died a poor man. 

Mrs. H. Gordon was a good, kind husband and 
father, and a Christian. 

Abner. No doubt of it. A good Christian, but a 
poor speculator. * 

Mrs. JET. He never meant to leave me penniless. 
Often in the midst of his speculations he said to me, 
" Fear not, wife ; should I fail, you are well provided 
for." 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 7 

Abner. Humph ! the old house at Mayburn, with 
nothing to live upon ; poor provision that. Gordon 
was always too generous ; he didn't look out for him- 
self. Not like me — I'm all for self. 

Mrs. H, You, Abner? the most kind and gen- 
erous — 

Abner, No such thing. There's my ward, he will 
be a rich man. I expect him every day. With Lin a 
for his wife, I shall have made comfortable provision 
for her future. No more expense on her account. But 
now, in steps this fellow, who must have found some 
clue to her expectations, and is trying to win her for 
my money. I tell you, sister, I don't like it. 

Mrs. JET. Then why not tell him so, Abner? 

Abner. And raise a flame where now there's but a 
spark. No, no, I've too old a head for that. But you 
ought to know some way to stop it. Women who are 
so handy at making matches must surely have some 
reserved power with which to break them when occa- 
sion requires. 

Mrs. H. Ah, but Lina evidently favors Mr. Spof- 
ford's attentions. 'Twould never do for me to inter- 
fere. Were it my own -daughter, Alice — 

Abner. Then I should have nothing to say. Alice 
is all well enough ; too much given to romping, racing, 
riding, and fishing — 

Mrs, H. And equally well skilled in washing, sew- 
ing, and cooking. 

Abner. O, yes ; Alice is a good girl, and will make 
some poor fellow a capital wife ; but to pick out my 
Lina, the flower of the family, — one in a thousand, — • 



8 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

graceful, beautiful, accomplished, — fit mate for a prince, 
it's — it's — wicked. 

Mrs. H. But if she loves him. 

Abner, I won't let her; 'twould break Oscar's 
heart. 

Mrs. H, They have never met. 

Abner. But my letters to him have been filled with 
praises of her. He must be half in love with her from 
my description, and the sight of her will complete the 
conquest. But if he comes and finds this dandy — O, 
it's absurd, ridiculous ! 

Mrs. H. I wish I could help you ; but 'twould be 
unkind for me to interfere. I am but a dependent 
here. 

Abner. Now, stop that; stop it, I say. You a 
dependent ! You are my unlucky brother's widow. 
You shared his poverty, and you have a right to share 
my prosperity; for had I died before him, all I have 
would have been his. Dependent — you ! Why, 
you have brightened my dull old bachelor quarters 
with a woman's cheering influence, and made me a 
dependent upon you for comfort, peace, and happiness. 
I am the gainer, not you ; and you know I am all for 
self; so don't talk of dependence. Tell me some way 
to get rid of this intruder. Can't you manage to give 
him a hint that his company is no longer agreeable ? 

Mrs. H. I suppose I could. 

Abner. And you will, Mary, when I confess to you 
that this match has become something more than a 
desire, — that on it depends my fortune. 

Mrs. IT. Your fortune, Abner ? 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 9 

Abner. Yes. I am terribly embarrassed. My real 
estate is heavily encumbered, and ill luck everywhere 
is following my investments. One of our steamers blew 
up at the wharf: no dividends there. A train smashed 
on our railroad : heavy damages, and no dividends for 
a long time. The White Squall is a month overdue. 
Three months ago I borrowed fifty thousand dollars 
of my shipbuilders, Silas Warner & Co., pledging the 
cargo of the White Squall for its repayment. She's 
overdue. Something's the matter with her insurance ; 
and the Warners are frightened — threaten to attach 
this place. And the fat 's sizzling in the fire gener- 
ally. 

Mrs. H. And I have heard nothing of this. 

Abner. Well, you see, I've been expecting Oscar 
every day. He is of age. I hold large sums belonging 
to him, which I would not touch without his consent, 
though ruin threatened me. Were he at home, he 
would help me until the White Squall arrived. But 
now, how can I ask his help should the girl I have 
promised him be won by another ? 

Mrs. H. Abner, you should have told me of this. 
There is my old house at Mayburn, just as I left it 
when Gordon died ; sell it, with all it contains. You 
can surely raise money by its sale. 

Abner. No, no ; if my house goes with the rest, 
you must have a home, Mary. No, no ; not that. 

Mrs. H. And yet, Abner, you are all for self. If 
this is selfishness, how near it is akin to nobility. 

Abner. O, tut ! tut ! tut ! Help me to get rid of 
this man. 



10 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mrs. H. His next visit shall be his last. I will 
promise you that. 

Abner. Good ; you promise. I feel better, for I 
know you will not fail me. 

Lina {outside a). You are just as hateful as you 
can be, Tom Howland. 

Abner. There's Lina, and quarrelling with Tom, as 
usual. Do you know, Mary, I had fears, when Tom 
came here, that he would fall in love with Lina; but 
they quarrel every day, and evidently detest each 
other. 

Mrs. U. I cannot imagine what has come over 
Tom, he was always so gentle in the old place, 

Abner. O, it's all right. Let them fight, if it keeps 
them from falling in love. I'm just selfish enough to 
enjoy it. 

{Enter Lina, c, holding her apron filled with flowers. 
She conies down l.) 

Lina. I've had glorious luck, mother, fornging in 
Tom's flower-beds. Aren't they sweet ? ( Takes a hand- 
ful, and showers them on Mrs. H.'s head into her lap.) 
And isn't he just raving. He chased me with a rake ; 
but the rake's progress, unlike Hogarth's, was rather 
slow, and I escaped. Here, uncle, a rosebud for your 
coat {comes back of table to r. of Abner). Let me 
fasten it {places rose in coat). There now, you are 
adorned for conquest. Prepare, O city maidens, to be 
captivated. Who will be this old man's darling. Pre- 
pare to be caught. 

Abner. My darling is already caught {slips his arm 
about her waist). 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 11 

Lina. Do you think so ? Haste makes waist (slijis 
away.) free, uncle. Ha, ha ! I'll not let you spoil my 
posies. I want them for my vases {goes to mantel, 
and arranges flowers). 

Abner {to Mrs. H.). Now, isn't she just splendid. 
Ah, Mary, if your girl only had her winning sweetness, 
her beauty, her grace, what a pair they would make. 

Mrs. H. O, she's sweet, Abner. But then, like 
you, I'm a bit selfish, and my Alice just suits me. 

Abner. Lina, you're a wild thing; you want a hus- 
band to tame you. 

Lina. Do I ? Whose husband do I want ? 

Abner. Whose husband ? Well, say mine. 

Lina. I'll say what you like, uncle, but I'll have 
my own. 

Abner. Oscar Loring is my choice. 

Lina. You may have him ; but I can't imagine 
what a man is to do with a husband. 

Abner. Marry him to the girl he loves best. 

Lina. Hadn't he better marry the girl he loves 
best himself. 

Abner. Not when she is his daughter. 

Lina. Ha, ha, ha ! Uncle, I'm caught at last. 
But Oscar Loring I have never seen. You are a mer- 
chant. You don't expect to sell goods without a 
sample. 

Abner. You shall see the goods, and I know you'll 
like the pattern. 

Lina. I shouldn't like a pattern husband {stands 
bach). There, look at my flowers ; aren't they lovely ? 
If I could only have secured a few geraniums before 



12 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Tom surprised me; he's so stingy. I watched my 
chance, and when his back was turned, went through 
the beds as Sherman marched to the sea {sings). 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Tom has left them free ; 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the choicest now for me ; 
Marching over flower-beds with none to hinder me, 
Gayly assailing Botania. 

{Enter Tom c. with a rake ; stops in doorway.) 

Tom. Bo-tania! Look here, Lina, if I catch you 
among my flower-beds again, I'll tan you without 
any Bo. 

Lina. Who cares for you, grubber. I wouldn't 
make such a fuss about a few flowers. 

Tom. Few ! Hear that. My prize geraniums ! 
You would have torn them from their mother earth, 
ruthlessly despoiled my beds of their beauties. 

Lina. Who is to see these beauties, if they lie abed 
forever ? 

Tom. O, you're a nuisance. 

Lina. You're another. 

Mrs. H. Children ! 

Abner. Don't interfere. Let them spat. I like it. 

Tom. I tell you, Miss Lina, private rights must be 
respected. Here I slave in the garden day after day, 
for what? 

Lina. Exercise, I suppose. You don't accomplish 
much. 

Tom. That's false. My flowers are the admiration 
of the whole neighborhood ; they overtop everything. 

Lina. Yes, that patch of sunflowers is a towering 
monument of your skill. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 13 

Tom. Look at my dahlias. 

Lina. I try, Thomas ; but your cabbages put their 
heads together to prevent my seeing them. 

Tom.. You are trifling with my horticultural aspi- 
rations. 

Lina. Where do they grow ? They must be rare 
plants to have such stupendous titles. 

Tom. O, I won't talk with you {stands his raJce 
against side of door next window, and goes to win- 
dow). 

Lina (sings). "Nobody axed you, sir, she said." 

Tom. I detest you. 

Lina. Do you ? Then we shall never be separated 
on account of incompatibility of temper. 

Tom. I wish somebody would carry you off and 
marry you. 

Lina. I mean to be married first, and carried off 
afterwards. 

Tom. You're a goose ! 

Lina. You're a donkey ! 

Tom (grimacing) . Ya ! Ya ! Ya ! 

Lina (grimacing). Bray, donkey, bray ! 

(Tom flings himself into chair at window. Lina 
seats herself by work-basket, and busies herself icith 
worsted. Abnee, looks at his watch.) 

Abner. Ten o'clock. I must be getting up to town. 
Can I bring you anything, Lina? 

Tom. Yes, uncle, bring out a muzzle. 

Lina. Do they muzzle donkeys, uncle ? By all 
means, let Tom have the proper harness. 

Tom. I spoke for you, Miss Impudence. 



14 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Lina. Indeed ! Don't rob yourself on my account 
{lifting her dress). There's muslin enough here forme. 

Alice {outside a). All aboard. All aboard. Boat's 
at the landing; bait's in the boat; skipper's looking 
for a crew {appears in doorway vrith bag swung at her 
side, fishing-pole in hand). And I'm the skipper, thank 
you. O, here you are. It's a glorious day for sport. 
Who'll go ? Come, Tom, forsake your favorite earth 

" For the deep, blue, boundless sea." 

Tom. No, I thank you. Fishing 's cruel sport ; I 
don't like it. 

Lina. You'll never be accused of cruelty, Tom. 
Tom. Do you mean to say I can't fish ? 
Lina. Indeed you can. 

" With perseverance worthy of a better cause," 
all day, and never a nibble. 

Tom. O, I've hooked something in my day. 

Lina. It must have been in your schooldays, when 
you hooked Jack. 

Alice. Don't tease him, Lina. Come, Tom ; I'll let 
you take ofF my fish. 

Tom. No, I thank you ; I've other fish to fry. 

Alice. Then I won't interfere with your cooking. 
Come, Nunky, you try the rod with me. 

Abner. I should be delighted, but I must go to 
town. 

Alice. Lina? 

Lina. Don't ask me; you know I am not a lover 
of manly sports. 

Alice (icith a mock courtesy). Ahem! The flower 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 15 

of the family has spoken. By the way, shouldn't 
flirtation be classed as a manly sport? Ha, ha! Lina, 
you're no lover of manly sports, O, no. Ybic are an 
accomplished young lady, skilled in drawing, painting, 
music, and all those «r£-ful ways which make charming 
girls; while I — I love to race across the green; to 
drive the black horses at their topmost speed ; to pull 
a boat ; and, when nobody's looking, to climb a tree. 
I want exercise, freedom, a brisk breeze upon my 
cheek, blue waves dancing about me. O, that's just 
glorious ! 

Abner. Yes, yes, that's all well enough, Alice; but 
you're too boisterous. A woman's place is inside the 
house ; she should be gentle, devoted to household 
affairs, soft of step, sweet-voiced. These are the 
qualities that beautify woman, and what every man 
hopes to find in a wife. 

Alice 

(together). Hear, hear, hear ! 




O, Nunky, when do you expect to find 
yours ? I know you've a poor opinion of little wild 
me. But don't be discouraged ; one of these days I 
may turn about and be an honor to you. I hope I 
may, for you have always been a kind — 

Abner. There, there, stop that. 

Alice. I'm off. Wish I could drum up a recruit. 
By the way, I had a dream last night. 

Lina. A dream ? 

Tom. That's nothing. I had the nightmare. 

Lina. How natural. " Birds of a feather," Tom. 



16 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Tom. You be hanged ! 

Mrs. H. Children ! 

Abner. Don't interfere, Mary. 

Alice. Yes. I dreamed I was in my boat on the 
lake, and a pickerel — such a beauty ! — took my hook. 
He weighed fifteen pounds. 

Tom. What a whopper ! 

Alice. He was". Tom, don't interrupt. I drew him 
into the boat ; and what do you think he did ? 

Tom. Died, of course. 

Tina. ~No ; died of exposure. 

Alice. He raised himself erect, and, with a tear in 
his eye, a tremor in his voice — 

Tom. And a hook in his gills. 

Alice. — Asked me to marry him. 

Tina. Poor fellow. Knew he was to be cooked, 
and wanted a mess-mate. Did you accept him ? 

Alice. No, Lina. I served him as you do your 
admirers {points to bag). I sacked him. 

Tina. What a lucky escape from becoming a mer- 
maid. 

Alice. Now I'm going to catch him in earnest ; 
and if I succeed, and he asks me to marry him, I'll 
send him to you for your official sanction. 

Abner. If he comes to me, I'll eat him. 

Alice. Ha, ha, ha! And serve him right. Good- 
bye to you, and good luck to me ! {goes up to door c. 
— Policy Newcomb enters / pole strikes his eye ; he 
ejaculates " Oh ! " claps his hand to his eye ; hits the 
rake and sends it down upon Tom's head / then comes 
e. c. holding his hand to his eye. Tom jumps up, 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 17 

♦ 

rubbing his head. Alice stands in door, looking at 
Policy an instant). I really beg your pardon, sir, but 
you should keep your eyes open. [Exit. 

Policy. Don't apologize, it's all right. What is 
the loss of an eye or two to the happy possessor of a 
ten thousand dollar accident policy, who draws a 
weekly stipend of fifty dollars for the time he is dis- 
abled. That eye ought to be good for six weeks 
(?'ubs it). No, confound it, it's all right. 

Abner. Does your eye pain you ? 

Policy. No. I wish it did. I've had the worst 
kind of luck with that policy in a railroad smash-up 
twice ; not a hair of my head injured. Blown up in a 
steamboat explosion, and landed safe in a rival boat. 
Run away with by a furious horse : he went over a 
precipice ; I went safely into a tree. An unfortunate 
investment ; it's on its last day, and I've not a scar 
to show. 

Lina {aside). Crying because he's not hurt. The 
man 's a fool. 

Abner. And you came here to tell us of your mis- 
fortunes ? 

Policy. Eh. I beg your pardon (gives letter). Read 
that, if you please. {Aside) Nice snug quarters ; 
luxury and comfort. Policy, my boy, you're in luck 
this time. 

Abner {after reading letter). Ah, I understand. 
Mr. Newcomb, I believe. 

Policy {bombastically). Policy Newcomb, agent for 
the " Live-for-Ever Life," the " Never-say-die Endow- 
ment," and the " Blow-up and Bust-up Accident " insur- 
2 



18 THE FLO WEE OF THE FAMILY. 

ance companies ; three of the noblest institutions in 
the country, sir ; with marble buildings in every large 
city, sir ; high-salaried officials, sir, who ride in their 
carriages, sir; liveried coachmen, and servants at their 
beck and call, sir. Institutions which draw in millions 
of the savings of all classes, sir, and pay out nobly, sir 
(aside), when they can't help it. . 

Abner. From this letter, I understand we are to 
have the pleasure of your society for a few days. 

Policy. Exactly. Sheriff Thorne — 

Abner {interrupting). I understand. Let all busi- 
ness matters be settled in private. Mrs. Howland, Mr. 
Newcomb will stop with us. 

Mrs. H. I'm sure any friend of yours — 

Abner. Will be heartily welcome, of course. Will 
you find a room for Mr. Newcomb ? He may wish to 
change — 

Policy. Nothing at present. My superfluous linen 
will follow me (aside) wherever I go. Still a little 
soap and water might be of service — 

Mrs. IT. O, certainly. (Pises. Abner steps up to 
her.) 

Abner. Mary, what I feared has come. This man 
is a keeper. Keep it from the girls. 

Mrs. H. I will be careful (crosses to e.). Mr. New- 
comb, will you follow me ? \JExit u. 

Policy. With pleasure. (Aside) I've seen that 
lady's face before (going). 

Abner. Mr. Newcomb, make yourself at home here. 
I will see you again. Just now, I must go to town. 

Policy (returning). To town ? How? may I ask. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 19 

Abnsr. Behind a pair of fast trotters (goes up 
stage). 

Policy. Fast trotters (rims after him and brings 
him down). Mr. Howland, one word (emphatically). 
Are yon insured ? 

Abner. Insured ? 

Policy (tragically). Pause, reflect, ponder. Fast 
trotters are sleek-coated demons. There is frenzy in 
their eyes, madness in their hearts, delusion in their 
heels. In their company your life is but a hair's-breadth, 
a horsehair's-breadth from destruction. Pause ere it 
is too late. Let me write you for ten thousand in the 
Bust-up and Blow-up Accident Company. The outlay 
is small ; the profit, should you be mangled or crippled, 
large ; should you perish by accident, immense. 

Abner. Mr. Newcomb, I've no time — 

Policy. Think of those infuriated steeds in a mo- 
ment of frenzy forsaking the peaceful, macadamized 
road, dashing with you at headlong speed to the brink 
of a frightful precipice. What supreme delight would 
animate your breast, as you hung over that frightful 
abyss, from which nothing could save you, to know 
you had in your pocket that priceless policy for ten 
thousand dollars. 

Abner. Ha, ha, ha ! Not to-day, thank you Mr. 
Newcomb. I know my horses better than I know 
your company. I'll take my own risk. Good-bye, Lina. 
I'll be back to tea. 

Lina. Good-bye, uncle ; a pleasant ride ! 
Abner. Good morning, Mr. Newcornb. Mrs. How- 
land is waiting for you, and she'll insure you — ha, ha, 
ha ! — good accommodation. \Exit c. 



20 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Policy. He don't bite. Laugh away ; but a jocular 
vein won't save the jugular {going e. sees Lina). 
What a pretty girl (stops and looks at her worlc). Ah, 
fancy work. Do you like that, miss ? 

Lina. O, yes ; don't you ? 

Policy. Me ? I think croquet is one of the most 
fascinating employments of the fair sex. 

Lina. Indeed ! What excellent taste ! Hence- 
forth my work will be a pastime (laughs). 

Policy (aside). She's making game of me. (Aloud) 
But don't you think it's a little bit wearing on the 
eyes ? 

Lina. It must be, especially after contact with 
such a hard substance as a fishing-pole. 

Policy (aside). Hem! sharp's the word there. 
(Aloud) Good morning (toalJcs off~R. 1st e. very stiff. 
Tom watches him off, then runs down to Lina, kneels, 
and puts his arm about her icaist). 

Tom. Darling, we are alone once more. 

Lina. Yes, Tom, " the cruel war is over " again. 

Tom. Yes, sweetheart, we can now dismiss the 
frown from our brows, the venom from our tongues, 
and be again a happy pair of lovers. 

Lina. O Tom, you can't imagine how hard it is 
for me to speak so sharply to you, whom I love so 
dearly. 

Tom. Yes, I can. " A fellow feeling," you know. 
Forgive me for all the hard words I have spoken. 

Lina. As I hope to be forgiven. 
Tom. It's our only course, Lina. War before 
others ; love and peace in secret. If Uncle Abncr 
knew I dared to love you — 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 21 

Lina. He would lock me up, send you away, and, 
O, dear! I tremble at the thought; but, fortunately, 
Mr. Spofford, my Spicer, is the suspected party, and 
not Tom Rowland. 

Tom. Spofford ! Lina, I hate that man. To see 
him with his infernal eye-glass ogling you; to hear his 
silly speeches ; to watch his confident assurance that 
he has captivated you. Lina, I try to be patient; but 
I know some day I shall pound that chap. 

Lina. And ruin your prospects. No, Tom, be 
patient still. The other will soon appear, and then I'll 
chtinge my tactics. 

Tom. Indeed ; and be as deeply interested in him 
as you now seem to be with Spofford. That's con- 
soling. 

Lina. Well, where's the harm ? If I can fascinate 
him, will not my powers of attraction be enhanced ? 
Shall I not be a richer prize for you to win? 

Tom. And I shall win you ? Assure me of that, 
and I care not how many suitors flicker about the 
flame that burns for me alone. 

Lina. That's very pretty, Tom. Be comforted ; 
my hand is yours when you shall dare to claim it. 

Torn {seizing her hand). 'Tis the dearest little hand 
in the wide, wide world (kisses it frantically. Policy 
enters b. 1 e. wiping his hands with his handkerchief). 

Policy. Ahem ! (Lina screams and bends over her 
work. Tom jumps up and goes to table with his back 
to Lina. Policy looks from one to the other, then 
steps to c. / looks at each again slowly, then) 

Policy. If I had only known — but I didn't. You 



22 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

see I am a new-comer ; not used to the ways of the 
house; but it's all right. I'm blind (pointedly to 
Lina), color-blind. I shall take occasion to congratu- 
late Mr. Howland — 

Tom {turning to Newcomb). Not for the world. 
Open your lips to speak of what you have here seen, 
and we are ruined. 

Policy. You don't say so ! 

Tom. I cannot explain the circumstances under 
which we are placed ; but, as you say, it's all right. 
And I am ready to buy your silence, if it is necessary. 

Policy {indignantly). Buy? Buy me? Young 
man, are you insured ? 

Tom. No. 

Policy. No? Young man, look at that fair, blush- 
ing face bending in happy confusion over her work- 
basket. She loves you ; you love her ; you love and 
live together. You would draw her from her secluded 
and happy home to share your fortunes. You would 
do this, rash youth, knowing the uncertainty of life, 
with a full knowledge that in your daily walks a brick 
from some towering chimney might fall upon your 
head to crush you; two bricks, perhaps, with but a 
single thought — to mash you. Be wise ; secure her 
future before you attempt to secure her. Let me 
write you for ten thousand in the Never-say-Die, and 
then you may laugh at fate, and, beneath a pile of 
bricks, triumphantly smile to know the loved one re- 
joices in the possession of that policy. 

Tom. Yes ; I see what you want. If I take a 
policy, your mouth is sealed. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 23 

Policy. We never go back on our policy-holders. 

Tom. Well. (Aside) Confound this fellow! (Aloud) 
I'll reflect upon it. 

Policy. There's no time like the present (takes 
circular from his pocket). Here, look at our state- 
ment, — surplus enormous. 

Tom (aside). O, bother (takes paper, and goes up 
to windoio. Policy follows, and talks in pantomime). 

Lina (laughs). Poor Tom! his troubles have com- 
menced. If he hadn't been quite so handy with his 
kisses, this miserable man would never have had it in 
his power to make us tremble in his presence. 

Tom (pointing to window). O, yes ; those are 
mine; raised them myself. I'm something of a gar- 
dener. Stroll out, and look over the beds. I'll join 
you presently. 

Policy. Thank you, I will (comes down with Tom, 
and takes his hat from table). I'm a Conner sure in 
garden sass. I'll look up your mammoth cabbages. I 
don't care much for roses, but among the green 'uns 
(at door) I'm at home (Exit. Tom watches him off). 

Tom. Lina ! 

Lina. Tom ! 

(Reenter Policy, c.) 

Policy. By the way, you'll want an accident policy 
to go with — 

Tom (angrily).. Mr. Newcomb, I want nothing 
but to be rid of your inf — delightful society for ten 
minutes. 

Policy. Don't get mad. It is your interest I have 
at heart. You are a gardener, in hourly danger of 



24 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

having your foot split open with a hoe, or your head 
scraped with a rake; or — or — of being stung by 
some poisonous reptile — a toad, or a bull-frog. What 
a salve would it be to your wounded anatomy, should 
you — 

Tom. Another word, and no policy for me. I'd 
sooner take the consequences. 

Policy {aside). That policy wouldn't suit this pol- 
icy. {Aloud) O, very well. I leave the matter to 
your calm consideration ; but remember, there are vital 
interests at stake. . \_JExit c. 

Tom. There's a martyr at the stake, that's sure. 
O, Lina, what's to be done ? 

Lina. Don't ask me; you've brought this upon 
yourself. 

Tom. Brought this upon myself? Well, I like 
that! 

Lina. And I don't like it. You've compromised 
me, sold yourself to that hateful insurance thing, and 
ruined our prospects. 

Tom. Well, you had a hand in it — a very pretty 
one, too. Don't be angry, Lina ; I'll find some way to 
insure our safety. 

Lina. Indeed! Haven't you had enough of in- 
surance yet? 

Tom. Don't be cruel {bending over her tenderly, 
with clasped hands). Nothing shall part us. 

Alice {outside a). Come right in ; never mind the 
water. 

Tom. The deuce ! {runs to table / picks up a booh ; 
sits in chair l. of table, and reads. Miter c. Alice. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 25 

She comes down to table. Oscar appears in doorway / 
stops there.) 

Alice (as she enters). Nobody will mind your ap- 
pearance. A shipwrecked mariner finds sympathy all 
the world over. 

Oscar. You are very kind; but people are not 
fond of having shipwrecked mariners deluge their car- 
pets with briny tears. I think I'll stop outside. 

Alice. Come in ; I insist. Nobody will eat you. 

Tom (aside). I should say not; a less tempting 
morsel I never saw. 

Oscar. O, very well, if you insist (comes down). 
And now I am here, will you be good enough to tell 
me where I am, and to whom I am indebted for hos- 
pitality. 

Alice. This is the residence of Mr. Abner Howland. 

Oscar (starting). Abner Howland ! 

Alice. That lovely young lady yonder is Miss Lina 
Howland. 

Oscar (bows to Lina). (Aside) My guardian's 
choice. Well, well ! he told but half the truth. 

Alice. That studious young gentleman there is Mr. 
Tom Howland. 

Oscar (bows and shakes hands with Tom). Glad to 
meet you, sir. Br-r-r (shivers). 

Tom (aside). A chilling reception. 

Oscar (to Alice). And you ? 

Alice (laughs) . O, I'm — I'm — nobody. 

Oscar. Indeed ! Then I am indebted to Nobody 
for my life, for which I am truly grateful (bows to 
Alice. She acknowledges). Miss Howland, and you, 



26 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mr. Howland, will, I trust, pardon this damp intrusion, 
when I inform you that (sneezes) I've caught a cold. 
Where was I ? O, having arrived last night at the 
cosy little hotel at Mayburn, and catching — (sneezes) 

Tom (aside). Hope it is not catching here. 

Oscar. — Catching a glimpse of the lake this morn- 
ing, I was seized with — (sneezes) — a desire to have a 
pull — (sneezes) 

Tom (aside). That's a pull back. 

Oscar. — On its placid waters. I equipped myself 
in this rather unfashionable suit, obtained a boat r and 
for a time — (sneezes) 

Tom (aside). That's for the fifth time. 

Oscar. — Enjoyed myself hugely, until seeing this 
young lady, Miss Nobody — (sneezes) 

Topi (aside). Must have had a delightful duet. 

Oscar. — Fishing, I made a quick turn to see what 
she was catching. 

Alice. Caught a crab, and capsized the boat, that's 
all. 

Oscar. "No, that's not all ; for you at once rowed 
to my assistance. Just in time, too, for these heavy 
boots were fast dragging me to the bottom (sneezes). 

Tom (aside). I'm glad he's touched bottom. 

Lina. O, Ally, has your dream come true ? 

Alice. Lina, don't you dare speak of that. 

Oscar. A dream ! That's good. What was it ? 
Dreams are so delightful — (shivers) 

Tom (aside). He shivers with delight. 

Oscar. — When young ladies tell them. 

Lina. O, this was the queerest — 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 27 

Alice. Lina Howland ! if you tell — 

Lina. I will. You must know, Mr. — By the way, 
you have not introduced yourself! 

Oscar. No ? {Aside) I don't mean to, either. {Aloud) 
O, certainly, I must introduce myself {claps hand to 
his breast). I've left my cards at the hotel {shivers) ; 
and then I'm so flustered by being in the water so 
long {shivers) ; and this costume is not exactly fitted 
for a ceremonious call ; so, if you please, for the pres- 
ent I will be — Mr. Nobody {sneezes). 

Tom {aside). Nobody ! He must be the great 
Julius Sneezer ! But, my dear fellow, you must, be 
very damp and miserable, soaked with water ; fortu- 
nately, I can furnish you with a change of raiment. I 
won't answer for the fit. 

Oscar. Anything will answer, thank you {sneezes 
violently). 

Tom. You couldn't have a worse fit than that. 

Oscar. But I'm anxious to hear about the dream. 

Alice. That story will keep. Attend to your com- 
fort, I beg. 

Tom {comes e.). Do, old fellow, make yourself 
comfortable and presentable ; for you certainly are not 
making a favorable impression, either upon the ladies 
or the carpet. Come. 

Oscar {comes to e., turns and bows). Excuse me, 
ladies. {Aside) I have fallen unawares into my guar- 
dian's cosy nest. Unknown, I will learn more of my 
promised bride, and Miss Nobody. {Follows Tom off, 
e. 1st E.) 

Lina. So you have fished to some purpose to-day. 



28 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Alice. Have I ? I've always been told that there 
is as good fish in the sea as ever was caught ; but let's 
wait until mine is properly dressed. 

Lina. His address is that of a gentleman. 

Alice. He is a gentleman. You should have heard 
his talk in the boat. Such expressions of gratitude ! 
such a glow ! such a — really, it almost upset me. 

Lina. No wonder; your boat is so small. 

Alice. Then, his eyes ! Did you ever see finer ? 

Lina. Ha, ha, ha ! the dream is certainly coming 
true. 

Alice. Nonsense, Lina! Do you suppose he will 
give a second glance at such an insignificant romp 
as I? 

Lina. No doubt of it ! and with as much expres- 
sion in those eyes — did you ever see finer, Ally? — 
as endangered your safety in the boat. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Alice. I won't give him the chance. I'll keep out 
of his way until he leaves the house. 

Lina. Do, Ally. That will make him crazy to 
return. That's strategy, Ally. 

Alice. Lina, you are provoking. 

Lina. It is the smitten heart that feels the smart. 
(Spofford ap>pears in door c. with eye-glass to his 
eye?) The wounded bird "that flutters. 

Spofford {comes down a). Yah, yah, yah !* that's me ! 

Alice ") 

ZmJ Mr - S P° fford! 

Spofford. .Yah, yah, yah! Spofford 's the wounded 
bird that flutters wound the candle. 

* Meaning " Yes, yes, yes ! " 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 29 

Alice. Ha, ha, ha ! "Pis the moth that flutters round 
the candle. 

Spofford. Ith it ? Yah, yah ! I didn't know what 
kind of a bird it was. But I'd just as lives be a moth- 
bird as any other. 

Lina. And where's the candle, Spicer dear ? {takes 
his r. arm and looks up into his face.) 

Spofford {aside). Spicer dear! She weally loves 
me. {Aloud, looking down at her tenderly) And can 
you weally ask, Lina dear? 

Lina. Ha, ha, ha ! So I'm a candle ! 

Spofford. No, no, noJ Not a weal candle, you 
know ; but something bwilliant ! 

Alice. Gas-light, for instance. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! But the candle 's — wax 
candle, you know — not a bad idea, because you're so 
finely moulded. 

Alice {aside). And have a stick to support you. 

Lina. Mr. Spofford, that was really a fine compliment. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I thought you'd like it — 
the candle — made it out of my own head. 

Lina. O, Spicer dear, how lonesome we should be 
without your daily visits ! 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Fisher says to me this 
morning — Fisher, you know, is the landlord at the 
hotel over at Mayburn. Rough fellow, Fisher ; but 
he amuses me, Fisher does. Eats with his knife, you 
know — Yah, yah, yah ! Fisher says, " What will the 
young ladies do without you over at Squire Howland's? 
They can't play croquet on the lawn when you are 
gone." Then I said a good thing — a deuthid bright 
thing. 



30 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Lina. You ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I said they'll be more for- 
lawn than ever ! Yah, yah, yah ! Wasn't that good ? 

Lina (wonderingly). More for Lawn ? 

Alice (slowly) . More — for — lawn ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Don't you thee ? You 
won't go to the lawn ; but you'll be more for going to 
the lawn ; that is, you'll wish that you could go for 
more lawn ; and you'd be lawn for — Deuth take it, 
I've got mixed somehow ; but that forlorn idea was 
good ; made it out of my own head. 

Alice (sighs). High-ho ! 

Spofford. What's the master with Mith Alice ? 

Lina. Low spirits, I guess. 

Spofford. What the deuth makes folks say high- 
ho, when they're in low spirits ? 

Lina. You haven't said a word to her. 

Spofford. O, she's jealous. (Aside) She's in love 
with me too, poor thing ! (Aloud) Mith Alice, can you 
tell me why my left arm is stronger than my right ? 

Alice. Your left arm stronger than your right ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! 

Alice. No ; I'm sure I cannot. 

Spofford. Because, you see, while there's more on 
my right arm it's Lina, and my left has something to 
spare. 

Alice (loclcing her arm in his, l.). I see, something 
to spare me. Now that was very good. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I thought you'd like 
that ; made it out of my own head. 

Alice (aside). There's nothing to spare there (they 
promenade to left). 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 31 

Spofford. Now, what shall we do this morning; play- 
croquet or ride ? ( Turn to e. and promenade back.) 

Lina. Croquet, of course. 

Alice. Ride, by all means. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah! Croquet and ride. 

Lina. No ; croquet will be sufficient. I don't care 
to ride. 

Alice. And I don't care to play croquet. 

Spofford {stopping in a). Yah, yah, yah ! 

Lina. I insist upon croquet. 

Alice. The mallets are locked up in my room, and 
will not come out this morning. 

Lina. I will not ride, and you cannot go without 
me. 

Alice. O yes, we can. Can't we, Mr. Spofford ? 

Spofford. Well, now, weally — * 

Lina {goes e.). I understand you prefer Ally's 
company to mine ! 

Alice {goes l.). Two is company, and three is 
none. I understand ! 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! But, the deuce ! Take 
two from one, and nothing remains. What am I ? 

Alice. A cipher, of course. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I sigh-for company ! Now 
that's a sudden thing, but it's good — that cipher — 
made out of my own head {looks at each). Poor 
things ! I've fascinated both ; but I can't marry but 
one. Why wasn't I born a Mormon ? {Enter Mrs. 
Howland, e. 1 e.) Ah, good morning, Mrs. Howland. 

Mrs. H. Good morning, Mr. Spofford. I am glad 
you called. I wish to speak with you alone. 



32 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Certainly. {Aside) Alone ! 
What the deuce is the matter now? {Miter Tom, 
r. 1 E.) 

Tom. I've induced our unknown friend to crawl 
into bed, after rattling down my meerschaums and 
other ornaments with his confounded shivering and 
sneezing ; and I'm going over to Mayburn to get him 
a dry suit. 

Mrs. H. Take the girls with you, Tom ; they'll 
enjoy the ride. 

Alice. Not I, mother. I'll take the opportunity of 
your entertaining Mr. Spofford — alone, to divest my- 
self of my fishing-skirt. Don't be alarmed. I'll not 
disturb your delightful tete-a-tete. \_JExit door l. 

Lina. And I'll go with Tom, mother. I don't 
think I shall enjoy the ride in his society; but to 
oblige you — 

Tom. O, humbug ! You're dying to go ; you know 
you are ; but I won't have you. You'll scare the 
horse. 

Lina. What a pity that would be! You're such a 
poor driver. Now I will go, just to spite you. There's 
a short cut to the stable across the dahlia bed {going), 

Tom. If you dare cross that, you'll catch it. 

IAna. Stop me if you can, booby {runs off c). 

Tom {running after her). Stop, I say! Plague! 
torment ! nuisance ! [Exit c. 

Mrs. H. {seating herself 'l. of table). Mr. Spofford, 
please take a seat. 

Spofford {seating himself e. of table). Yah, 
yah, yah ! 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 33 

Mrs. H. As a friend of ray late husband, you were 
kind enough to search me out, and tender your sym- 
pathy. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Mr. Howland, your late 
departed, was a nice man, he was. Used to lend me 
small sums, and didn't dun me. I always liked Mr. 
Howland. 'Twas mighty inconvenient, his dying. 

Mrs. H. Your sympathy was very kind ; and were 
I in my own house — 

Spofford. Now, don't apologize. It makes no dif- 
ference to me. I'm just as glad to see you here as if 
it was your own house. 

Mrs. II. Yes ; but still there is a difference — 

Spofford. Not the least. I can call anywhere. I 
have a way of making myself at home at all times and 
in all places. 

Mrs. H. Still*, I am compelled by circumstances to 
thank you for your kindness, and ask you to cease 
your visits here. 

Spofford. Circumstances ! Yah, yah, yah ! Neigh- 
bors talk about it! But who cares ? Mere gossip. 
Not to be thought of. 

Mrs. H. (rising). Mr. Spofford, I am very sorry 
you will not understand my meaning ; it compels me 
to speak plainly. Your society is no longer agreeable 
to me, or the master of this house (crosses to e.). I 
shall give orders that you are not to be admitted to 
the house or the grounds. Good morning. 

\JExit E. 1 E. 

Spofford (still seated). Yah, yah, yah ! Kicked 
out ! that's the English of it ! Now, now, now ! what 
3 



34 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

the deuce is the matter with her ? Somebody 's been 
meddling. Heard something. And I'm to be cut off 
in the flower of my youth ! Yah, yah, yah ! Guess 
not, Mrs. Howland. Spofford hasn't set his head to 
work for this conclusion — just as both of those girls 
are so captivated that they would follow me to the end 
of the earth. Yah, yah, yah ! I've got it. An elope- 
ment ! Deuced good idea. A ride over to the par- 
son's what's his name at Mayburn to-night ; a word 
in the parson's ear — a marriage ! And then they 
won't give orders to keep me out of the house, or the 
grounds. They'd have no gwounds on which to do it 
then. That's good — no gwounds ; made out of my 
own head, too. Yes, Miss Lin a is the one ; she's 
pretty, and silly ; just suits me. The other — I'm afraid 
of her. I'll try it {takes paper and pen, and writes). 

{JEJnter c. Newcomb / he stops and looks at Spof- 
ford, whose back is half turned to him.) 

Newcomb. Hallo ! a new arrival ? Chance for a 
speculation here. Strike while the iron 's hot {comes 
down l. ; sits in chair and slaps the table with his 
hand). Stranger, are you insured ? 

(Spofford looks up with a start ; Newcomb starts; 
falls back in his chair. Spofford does the same.) 

Newcomb. Spicer Spofford. 

Spofford. Policy Newcomb. 

Newcomb. What is your little game here, Spofford ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah! What's yours? You lead 
and I'll follow suit. 

JVeiocomb. There's no mystery about my pres- 
ence here. The old gentleman, Mr. Abner Howland — 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 35 

(Alice steps in from door l., which should be well 
up stage, so that the parties at table have their backs 
to her ; she sees them, and is about to retire, but stops) 

— is in difficulty. He owes a large sum to certain par- 
ties. He is unable to pay ; so I am here. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! A keeper ! 

Alice. A keeper in uncle's house ! \Exit door l. 

Newcomb. Yes, a keeper. Now for your play. 

/Spofford. Yas ! Play ? You've hit it, Policy. I'm 
on a pleasure trip. 

Newcomb. You've tripped already. Won't do. 
Try again, Spicer. The Bowcliffe Insurance Company 
give their clerks no pleasure trips. Try again. 

Spofford. Well, then, call it a diplomatic mission. 

Newcomb. A diplomatic mission from the office ? 
They'd as soon trust a baby. 

Spofford. Ah, you don't know everything, Policy. 
I've found out something ; a grand, universal discovery 

— all out of my own head, too. 

Newcornb. Well, if you've found you've got a head, 
that is something no one has ever yet discovered. 

Spofford. Yah, yah ! Something royal — a fortune ! 
This is a secret, Newcomb. 

Newcomb. Of course. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Well, you see, about 
three months ago, I was looking over the policy-book, 
and I came across a paid-up policy for twenty-five 
thousand dollars, taken out, ten years ago, by one 
Gordon Howland. 

Newcomb. Gordon Howland ? Yes. I wrote his 
myself; and 'twas a good day's work for me. 



36 THE FLOWEB OF THE FAMILY. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Well, he's dead and 
gone, poor man; and the policy has never been paid. 

JVewcomb. Not paid ! How is that ? 

Spofford. ISTo claim has ever been made. Don't 
you see, he did it to surprise his family when he should 
die. Hid the policy. Couldn't tell when he was 
struck down ; and there is the money unclaimed. 

JVewcomb. It was written in favor of his wife ; and 
she — 

Spofford. Is now in this house. 

JVewcomb. O, ho ! I see ! I thought I'd seen that 
face before. Good! And you, Spicer, like a good 
friend, have come down here to communicate the 
joyful news. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I guess not, Policy. 
That's not my little game. O, I'm a deep one, New- 
comb. I don't look it, but I am. 

JVewcomb. You don't look deep, Spofford, that's a 
fact. 

Spofford. But I am. She's got two daughters — 
one too many — but 'they're both in love with me. Do 
you see? I'll marry one; you shall marry the other. 

JVewcomb. Well, that's kind of you, Spicer, to re- 
member me in this ; especially as you can't marry both. 
Why, Spicer, what a head you have! 

Spofford. O, I'm sharp ! I've worked my cards 
well ; only just now — I'm kicked out ! 

JVeiocomb. Kicked out? 

Spofford. Yes ; forbidden the house by Mrs. How- 
land. Perhaps she's an idea that all is not right. But 
I'm going to play my trump card now. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 37 

JVeiocomb. Let's see the little joker. 

Spofford. I've just written a line to Miss Lina. 
She's the favorite {looks at paper). "Meet me at the 
arbor to-night, at seven. I am forbidden to see yon. 
They shall not part us. I'll bring a vehicle ; the par- 
son at Mayburn will expect us," <fcc, &c. She'll come. 
A little persuasion, and an elopement. See, ISTew- 
comb ? 

JVevjcomb. Short notice. Do you imagine she will 
consent? 

Spofford. Don't I tell you she's in love with me ? 
She'll come {rises). I'll tuck the note into her basket 
{comes to e. and places note). She'll be sure to see it. 
It's a deuced deep scheme; made out of my own head, 
too". Good-bye {going). 

Newcomb {runs after him and brings him down). 
Stop ! You are about to undertake a deed fraught 
with danger. You will drive over to Mayburn. The 
road is rocky, precipitous, dangerous. You may be 
pursued; perhaps overturned; shot at; killed! Let 
me write you an accidental policy. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! You do it well, New- 
comb — deuced well ; but a good cook makes pies and 
eats bread. Now that's good ; sudden, but good. Made 
it out of my own head. \_Exit c. 

Policy. Bread made out of his own head ! Why 
shouldn't he — dough-head ? What a fool ! Marry the 
girl if you like ; but I'll go to the fountain-head {at 
door). I'll try for the old lady. \_Exit c. 

{Enter Alice, door l. She runs up to c. door and 
looks after them.) 



38 THE FLO WEE OF THE FAMILY. 

Alice. Ruin threatens my uncle ; and my dear fa- 
ther has somewhere hidden the power to save him. It 
must be found. Be mine the task. Heads may scheme, 
but hearts, through faith and love, oft work and win 
{stands at door with right hand raised). 

[ Curtain.'] 



THE FLO WEE, OF THE FAMILY. 39 



Act II. — Scene same as Act I. Mrs. H. seated in 
easy-chair l. of table, winding yarn from a skein 
which Newcomb holds on his hands. He is seated 
E. of table, very stiff, with a marked look of admi- 
ration on his face. Alice seated e., reading a book. 

Mrs. H. I'm so sorry to trouble you, Mr. Newcomb. 
This must be an irksome task to you. 

Policy. Not a bit of it, Mrs. Howland. I — I like 
it ; 'tis a pleasure to sit and see one's self wound into 
the fingers of lovely woman. There's a positive feeling 
of attachment in it. 

Mrs. H. Ah, you look at it in a business light ; 
attachments, I believe, are in your line. 

Policy (aside). That's a hit at the keeper. (Aloud) 
No ; quite a romantic episode. To feel that with every 
twirl of your fingers I am being drawn into your 
domestic rounds, being drawn nearer and nearer to — 
(bends towards Mes. H.). 

Mrs. H. Sit straight, Mr. Newcomb ; you'll tangle 
the skein. 

Policy (straightening up quickly). Thank you. 
(Aside) Hang the skein ! (Aloud) How can I help 
unbending in your society ? I have seen so little of 
female society, that I desire to grasp (bends forward 
again with hands stretched towards Mrs. H.). 

Mrs. H. Keep your hands apart, Mr. Newcomb ; 
do, please ! 



-' THE TXOTVEE OF THE FAMILY. 

Policy (straightening up and stretching his hands 
apart). Thank yon. I must be very awkward. 

Mrs. H. That is to be expected at a new employ- 
ment. I think yon told me, Mr. Xewcorab, you are 
unmarried. 

Policy. At present. Tes ; a poor, forlorn bachelor. 
" Mrs. Howland, I trust you may be spared the mise- 
ries that are the portion of such as I. Xo one to love ; 
z.-: :_t : : ; r~ ;i ;. ";.::::.. :: :;.:e a ::.;:: m. 

Mrs. H. Be careful, Mr. Xewcomb; my yarn. 

Policy (straight-ening up). Thank you. (Aside) 
She's not interested in my yarn. (Aloud) Yes, Mrs. 
Howland. I am an unwritten policy, waiting for some 
one to£ake the risk; but a policy, Mrs. Howland, des- 
tined to enrich the taker with large dividends of afTec- 
tionfl during life, and a rich endowment when time 
shall break the brittle thread (gesticulates). 

Mars. H. You'll break my yarn. Do be careful, 
Mr. Xeweomb. 

Policy (straightening up>). Thank you. (Aside) 
Confound the yarn ! 

Mrs. H. So rich a prize, Mr. Xewcomb, will not 
Ions remain unsouarht. 

PoKcy (Aside). Ah, ha! There's speculation in 
those eyes. (Aloud) Do you think so ? — really, truly 
think sc : Make me happy by repeating that pro- 
phecy. 

Mrs. H. Your time will come, depend upon it. 

Policy. B Fly time, and bring the joyful day." I have 
singled out the object of my adoration. As yet she 
knows not the deep love she has inspired ; but she 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



41 



holds the threads of my destiny in her two lovely 
hands — in her lovely two — O, pshaw! I feel I am 
rapidly being drawn nearer and nearer to — 

Mrs. H. (winding the last of the skein) . The end 
at last, Mr. Newcomb. 

Alice {laughs). Ha, ha, ha! 

Policy. Eh ! What amuses yon, Miss Alice ? 

Alice. Only my book, sir. 

Policy. And your book is — 

Alice. " The Fortune Hunter." Have vou read it ? 

«r 

Policy. !N"o. Blood-and-thunder adventures in the 
mines do not interest me. I wonder they should 
you. 

Alice. You are mistaken. The fortune-hunter that 
interests me is no daring desperado; but a smooth, 
calculating rascal, who is endeavoring to secure a good 
woman's hand, that with it he may snatch her little 
fortune, and enjoy it. 

Policy (confused) . Ah — yes — indeed ! Q uite 
another character. Well, does he succeed? 

Alice. I think not. He deserves to be defeated ; 
but domestic dramas are such masquerades, we must 
wait patiently, until, like you and mother just now, 
we have reached the end. 

Policy. O, yes, yes ; exactly. (Aside) I don't like 
this. Can she suspect ? (Aloud) Shall I hold another 
skein, Mrs. Howland ? 

Mrs. H. That's all, thank you. I am going to the 
garden (goes up stage). 

Policy. May I go with you ? Fra very, very fond 
of roaming amongj the lilies and daffo down dillies. 



42 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mrs. H. I shall be very glad of your company, 
and will take pains to show you the sweetest and pret- 
tiest. {Exit c. 

Policy. Thank you. (Aside) And the richest is 
yourself. Newcomb, my boy, you're in favor here. 
Policies are looking up. \_Exit c. 

Alice {rises, and passes to chair l. of table). Poor 
mother ! She little dreams that she is the object of 
adoration, sought by uncle's keeper ! I dare not tell 
her my discovery, lest I awaken hopes that may not 
be realized. I must begin my search at once. That 
policy, _ of such priceless value now, must be hidden 
somewhere in the old house. I have no clue to its 
hiding-place. I must find an excuse to visit our old 
home alone ; and once' within its walls, I will not give 
up the search until it's mine. 

(Enter Oscar, e. 1 e.) 

Oscar. May I come in? 

Alice. If you are* the unskilful oarsman who was 
put to bed, like a naughty boy, as a punishment, and 
if you are ready to say you will never, never do so 
again, you may. 

Oscar. I am ready to say anything that will give 
me an opportunity to speak with you. 

Alice (aside). What a handsome fellow! 

Oscar. I believe I am a little more presentable; 
and, thanks to our friend Tom's accommodation, fully 
recovered from the effects of my bath. 

Alice. I am very glad to hear it. What a queer 
adventure ! 

Oscar. Very. It cannot be called romantic ; for by 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 43 

all the rules of modern fiction, it's the heroic young 
man who, at the peril of his life, saves the beautiful 
maiden from a watery grave. We have transgressed 
those rules, for a beautiful maiden has saved — 

Alice. The heroic young man who couldn't manage 
his boat. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Oscar. Laugh at me if you will ; but I shall al- 
ways bless the awkward turn that made us friends. 

Alice. Friends ! Do you think so ? I fancy that 
when you have left this place, you will laugh in turn 
at the unwomanly hoiden who caused the accident. 

Oscar. If you think so, then I shall never leave this 
place. 

Alice. Indeed ! So, having caught my fish, I must 
preserve it. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Oscar. Preserve the recollection of how you caught 
it. I am content. I shall remember it as one of those 
chance occurrences which are turning-points in life. 

Alice. So serious as that? 

Oscar. You do not know me. For years I have 
been a wanderer in the old world, with wealth at my 
command; every wish gratified. I have enjoyed all 
the delights of travel. I have met many beautiful 
women ; but I came back to my native land, heart 
whole. But now — 

Alice. Excuse me ; but this language from a stran- 
ger to a stranger — 

Oscar. You will pardon. It may be presuming, 
but 'tis honest and earnest. Now, though we have 
never met until this day, I've found my fate. There 
is but one desire in my heart — to become nearer and 
dearer to you. 



44 THE FLO WEE OF THE FAMILY. 

Alice. Sir — Mr. — you forget — 

Oscar. It is that one word, forget, which has made 
me speak. But that you had said I should forget you, 
my voice would have been silent. 

Alice. You have no right to speak thus to me. 

Oscar. I have the right of every honest man to 
tell a woman of his love — 

Alice. No more of this, I beg. My uncle and 
guardian will be pleased to see you, should you call 
during your stay at Mayburn. 

Oscar. And you ? 

Alice. Will be glad to meet any friend my uncle 
shall present. 

Oscar. And he will present me in form, and then 
we shall become — 

Alice (giving her hand). Friends, if you desire it. 

Oscar. Yes, dear friends. And that I may hasten 
the time, the good time coming, I will now take my 
leave. For the debt of gratitude I still owe you, let 
me slip this ring upon your finger, to remind you it 
will never be forgotten (slips a ring upon her finger). 
Ah ! some one has been before me ! A fair exchange — 

Alice. — Would in this case be a robbery. I can 
never part with that. 

Oscar. Ah ! a favored suitor ! 

Alice. Yes, my father. You see it bears a motto. 

Oscar (taking her hand, and examining the ring). 
A curious one. " Search the Scriptures." A wise pre- 
cept. 

Alice. My father, in apparent health, was stricken 
down suddenly, a year ago. He was brought home 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 45 

and laid upon his bed, from which he never rose again. 
He was a kind and noble father, and we all loved him 
dearly. He could not speak or move. I noticed that 
his eyes moved towards that ring on his finger which 
I had never seen before. Believing that I understood 
his wish, I took it from his finger and placed it upon 
mine. The satisfied look that beamed upon me I shall 
never forget. I thought I understood his meaning, and 
morning and evening since he died I have followed its 
precept : I could not part with it. To me it seems 
a happy talisman. 

Oscar. I would not take it from you. Let mine 
repose near it. It has no motto. I will give it one. 
" Search the giver." When you may come to know 
him better, you will find among the tokens of human 
frailty he must possess one redeeming virtue — a deep 
respect and a growing love for one to whom this new 
proof of goodness lends an added charm. Good-bye. 
We shall, we must meet again (kisses her hand, and 
goes towards door. Enter Mrs. H. and Newcomb). 

Mrs. H. You are going to leave us ? 

Oscar. Yes, Mrs. Howland, with many thanks for 
the kind treatment I have received. 

Mrs. H. I hope you suffer no inconvenience from 
your accident. 

Policy, e. Accident? 

Mrs. JT., c. This gentleman was capsized upon the 
lake this morning. 

Policy. Ah, ha ! Another fearful warning ! 

" Life, 'tis a strife, 'tis a bubble, 'tis a dream, 
And man he is a little boat a-floating down tbe stream." 



46 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

But the little boat will get upset, and the angry- 
waves lash the frail craft, and drag — 

Oscar, l. Excuse me, sir, but your boat is pitching 
rather heavily on a calm lake. 

Policy. Are you insured ? 

Oscar. I'm in doubt ; consult my agent. 

Policy. Be warned ; be wise. You are a water- 
man, a skimmer of the seas. You trust your skull to 
the mercy of a pair of sculls — mere spoons. Water 
is a deadly fluid when taken into the system in too 
copious draughts. You must see the folly of trusting 
yourself on the angry deep without a life-preserver. 

Oscar (looking at Alice). I was fortunate enough 
to find one in the hour of adversity. 

Policy. The only real preservers are the Burst-ups 
and Blow-ups. I'm their accredited agent. Let me 
write you for ten thousand — 

Oscar (laughs). JSTot to-day, thank you. I'll take 
my chances with the preserver I have already secured, 
and like so well that I am anxious to give it another 
trial. Good afternoon (bows, and exits c). 

Policy. He don't bite ; after such an escape, too. 
O, he must listen to reason. Here, Mr. — what's your 
name ? — one word — [Exit c. 

Mrs. H. I declare ! Mr. Kewcomb is the most per- 
severing man I ever met. It's a wonder he hasn't 
attempted to induce me to take a policy. 

Alice {laughing). He will, mother, take my word 
for it ; and such a policy ! 

Mrs. H. What do you mean, child ? I haven't a 
cent to invest in such a venture. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 47 

Alice. He only requires your assent to write you, 
as he terms it, for life. 

Mrs. IT. Let me catch him trying it, that's all. I 
always did detest insurance. 

Alice. Don't say that, mother ; it may yet prove a 
blessing to us. 

Mrs. H. That was the only subject your father and 
I disagreed upon. 

Alice. Indeed! (Aside) That accounts for the 
hiding. 

Mrs. H. It's tempting Providence — that it is ; and 
I'm glad your father took my advice, and let it alone. 
I had my way in that. 

Alice. Indeed ! (Aside) If I cannot disprove that, 
I shall be no true daughter of a noble father. (Exit l. 
as Lina enters c. hurriedly.) 

Lina (throwing off shawl and hat on chair by 
window). So — so — Mr. Spofford has been forbidden 
the house, and by you, mother ! It's a shame to treat 
a gentleman in this manner! 

Mrs. H. Lina ! 

Lina, r. I will speak. What right have you to do 
this? 

Mrs. JET., r. I acted on your father's wishes, Lina. 

Lina. Indeed ! Am I to be treated like a child ? 
I like Mr. Spofford, and I will not allow my admirers 
to be driven away in this manner. When I am tired, 
I know how to rid myself of them. 

Mrs. H. Mr. Spofford came here as my friend, 
Lina. You will certainly allow me the privilege you 
claim, of ridding myself when I am tired ? 



48 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Lina. O, pshaw ! You know very well that was 
but an excuse. 

Mrs. H. Then I acted rightly. No gentleman 
would seek to gain admission here by a subterfuge. I 
am sorry you are not satisfied, Lina (crosses to r.), but 
your father's wishes must take precedence with me. I 
hope you will think better of my action. \_Exit r. 1 e. 

Lina {stands looking after her). Mother, mother! 
don't go ! — I've driven her off! Just like me. But 
she has spoiled all my pleasure. He won't come here 
again. (Enter Tom c, runs down and puts his arm 
about her icaist.) 

Tom. Here you are again, darling. 

Lina (slipping away from him to r.). You here 
again, booby ? 

Tom. Hallo! "What's the matter? We are alone. 

Lina. How can two be alone ? 

Tom {running to her and clasping her in his arms). 
Only when they are one — one in heart — in soul. 

Lina (pushing him away). Twaddle, Mr. Howland 
— borrowed from the pages of the last new novel. 

Tom (c. staring at her). Twaddle ! Borrowed ! 
Mister Howland ! Somebody must be listening (creeps 
on tiptoe up to door a). Nobody there! (In same 
manner to door l.) Nobody there ! Ah ! (runs and 
lifts the cloth on table ; looks under). Nobody there! 
What can be the matter — Miss — Miss Howland ? 

Lina. Well, Mr. Howland ? 

Tom (angrily). Will you just tell me the mean- 
ing of this confounded — (Lina looks at him sternly) 
ah — I mean, darling — explain — explain — 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 49 

Lina. Attend to your geraniums — your mammoth 
cabbages — your prize poppies — and let me alone. 

Tom (looking round). Confound it, somebody's 
ear must be at a keyhole ! (Aloud) I shall do nothing 
of the sort. My attention at this moment is bent on 
attending a fairer flower — the flower — (holding out 
his hand). Come, j>et — 

Lina (slapping his hand). Go, pest ! 

Tom. We are un watched; it's all right. You are 
alone with me who loves you. ( Gets angry) Confound 
it, Lina, this has gone far enough. I demand an ex- 
planation : why are you so cold — so distant? (She 
turns upon him suddenly / he runs behind table.) I 
see it all. You are not a pet, but in a pet, because 
Spicer Spofford has gone. You grieve at his absence : 
I don't. I rejoice that he has at last been made to 
see his place — outside the door. 

Lina. You rejoice! — you! — at this insult to a 
gentleman in every way your superior? 

Tom. Lina ! 

Lina. Silence, sir. I will not listen to you. I 
doubt not you are the cause of his dismissal — you, 
with your absurd jealousy ! 

Tom. Well, I like that. I jealous ? That's good ! 
I'm a martyr. Give me another shot ! 

Lina. I give you what he has received — a dis- 
missal. 

Tom. You don't mean that, Lina ? 

Lina. I do. From this moment, all is at an end 
between us. Henceforth we are strangers. 

Tom. Yes, I understand — before company. (Aside) 
4 



50 . THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

She can't mean it. (Enter Alice, l.) O, no, I see. 
(Aloud) Very, well; henceforth we are strangers. 
That suits me. I shan't be the first to ask an intro- 
duction. 

Alice, Quarrelling again. You children should be 
locked up in separate apartments. 

Lina. O, no. Tom and I have come to an under- 
standing at last ; we shall never quarrel again — shall 
we, darling? 

Tom (aside). Confound it, I don't understand this 
skirmishing. Never mind ; I'll keep up the excitement. 
(Aloud) No, baggage, we shall never, never, never 
be friends. You, the flower of the family? Bah! 
you're a quarrelsome, disagreeable, disappointed old 
maid, and I'll never speak to you again — never ! 

\_Exit c. 

Lina. Ally, do you know Mr. Spofford has been 
forbidden the house ? 

Alice. Yes, dear. 

Lina. Yes, dear? And can you calmly brook 
tyranny? Such interference with our rights and 
liberties — 

Alice. Liberty to flirt and mitten! Is that what 
you mean, Lina ? For my part, I am glad he has been 
retired. He is very amusing for a while ; but one 
soon tires of a man like him, whose wit is all out 
of his own head. You understand ? Yah, yah, yah ! 
(laughs) . 

Lina. I think he's splendid ; and I, for one, shall 
not drop his acquaintance in this summary manner. 

Alice. Not when your father wishes it ? 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 51 

Lina. My father's wishes can be easily made to 
give plaoe to mine. 

Alice. And you desire to continue this acquaint- 
ance ? 

Lina. I certainly do, and shall (goes to basket, seats 
herself, and takes work. Alice goes l.). 

Alice (aside). She must have a deeper interest in 
this man than I imagined. Shall I disclose his true 
character ? Would she believe me ? (Lina discovers 
note.) Ah! the note — I had forgotten that. She 
reads it. 

Lina. Poor fellow ! ( To Alice) You see he has 
not forgotten me. Even now he is waiting for me at 
the foot of the garden (rises / drops note into basket). 

Alice. You will not meet him, Lina ? 

Lina. Not when the poor fellow is dying to see 
me? 

Alice. Lina, you must not. He is an adventurer — 
a worthless fortune-hunter. 

Lina. Whom you, if I mistake not, were pleased 
to be noticed by. Ah ! Ally, beware of jealousy. 

Alice. Lina, I detest that man. 

Lina. And I like him. I shall go. And if I should 
not return before father arrives, tell him I have gone 
to comfort a slighted guest. \_Exit door l. 

Alice. Am I awake? Will she elope with that 
man ? (Huns to basket and takes note.) 'Tis plainly 
proposed, and she — (tosses note on table). No, no, 
this must not be. She is wild, giddy, and in her wil- 
fulness may throw herself away. Triumph he cannot. 
He is deceived, believing us to be sisters. Drive to 



52 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Mayburn. Ah ! happy thought ! I can save her, and 
serve myself (runs to door l. and turns key). She 
has left her shawl and hat here (runs to chair and 
takes them). I do like a frolic; and I will mystify 
Mr. Spicer Spofford {puts on shawl) , balk his matrimo- 
nial designs {unwinding veil from hat and putting it 
on), and gain an entrance to the old house at May- 
burn. It's a wild frolic ; but, with so much at stake, 
the end must justify the means {throws veil over her 
hat, and exits c. Mrs. H. enters n. 1 e.). 

Mrs. JET. Where are you going, Lina ? Poor child, 
she is still angry {goes to door, c). Lina ! {Enter 
Policy a). 

Policy. It's no use calling, Mrs. Howland. I tried 
to stop her, hearing you call ; but she sped across Mr. 
Tom's flower-beds in the most reckless manner. Won't 
I do as well ? I'm awful lonesome. 

Mrs. M. {coming dozen a). Ah ! a little homesick. 

Policy. O, no ; perfectly comfortable here, Mrs. 
Howland. How could I be homesick when I am near 
the object of my hopes? 

Mrs. H. Ah ! somebody wants a policy. 

Policy. I hope so ; I think so ; I flatter myself 
somebody does. Ah ! {sighs, and clasps his hands, 
looking tenderly at Mes. H.). 

Mrs. H. I'm glad of it for your sake, though I 
detest anything that bears the name of policy. 

Policy {crestfallen). Oh ! {Aside) There 's a 
damper. {Enter Tom, c.) 

Tom. Hallo ! Where are the girls ? Uncle has 
arrived, and is in a towering passion. Something 's 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 53 

gone wrong. Look after his tea. O ! here he is (comes 
l. Enter Abner; stops in doorway). 

Abner. O, Mary, Mary, Mary ! 

Policy {coming r.). O, Mary's her name. I'll call 
her pet names. Mary — Molly — Polly ! 

Mrs. H. (r. c.) Why, Abner, what's the matter ? 

Abner. After your promise to me — your solemn 
promise to me, that man Spofford is still allowed the 
liberty of my house ! 

Mrs. H. I obeyed your wishes ; spoke with Mr. 
Spofford; and he has left the house, never to return. 

Abner. Left it ! Yes ; in company with my daugh- 
ter! 

Policy {aside). His daughter? Ho, ho! Spicer 
has made a slight mistake ! 

Tom. Lina gone ! 

Mrs. H. You must be mistaken, Abner. 

Abner. Do you suppose I do not know my own 
daughter ? I met them on the road, with that man 
driving like mad. O, this is unendurable ! {comes to 
table and picks up note). 

Mrs. JET. I do not understand it. 

Abner. This explains all. The villain has eloped 
with Lina! 

Tom. Gone — eloped — my Lina ? 

Abner. Your Lina ? 

Tom {aside). O Lord! I've let the cat out of 
the bag. {aloud) No, no. Our Lina. She is ours, you 
know; the flower of the family. Let's drive after them 
with the blacks; we can overtake them. Come, 
come ! there is no time to be lost. 



54 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Abner. Not a step. She has made her own choice. 
Henceforth she is no daughter of mine. 

Lina {outside l., knocking at door). Uncle, mother, 
let me out ! 

Tom. Ah, that dear, dear voice (runs, unlocks 
door, and throws it open). She's here! My — our 
Lina ! (Enter Lina. Tom is about to embrace her ; 
she pushes him one side.) 

Lina. Uncle, welcome home (kisses him). 

Abner (with his arm about her). My child, my 
child ! I thought I had lost you ! 

Lina. Because I was not here to greet you ? 

Abner. No. Because I thought I saw you riding 
towards Mayburn with Spicer Spofford. I'll swear 
'twas your hat and shawl. 

Lina. My hat and shawl ? I left them here (goes 
to window), and they are gone. It must have been 
Alice. 

Abner and Mrs. H. Alice ! 

Lina. It's one of her wild frolics. She must have 
turned the key upon me, and gone. 

Abner. With this shame-faced adventurer. I see 
it all. This note was hers. 

Lina (coming down l.). That note — 

Mrs. H. 'Tis false, Abner Howland. My child 
could not stoop to a disgraceful act. 

Abner. Yet she has gone — stolen from my house in 
disguise. It could be no other. This note ; the lock- 
ing of that door. She has disgraced us all. , 

Policy (aside). Spicer's head is level after all. 
He'll win. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 55 

Mrs. H. False, all false. She will return to prove 
her innocence. 

Abner. Not to my house. My child must not be 
contaminated by her influence. 

Lina {aside). What shall I do ? I dare not tell 
the truth. 

Tom {extreme l.). Darling, I knew you could 
not be false. 

Lina. Hush ! 

Tom. Certainly, before company. 

Abner. She has forsaken my roof; henceforth to us 
she is lost. 

Mrs. H. No; she is my child. Though all the 
world turn against her, my heart tells me she is inno- 
cent. My arms shall be open to receive her. My child, 
my child, my child {sobs, and falls into Abner' s 
arms). 

Tableau. — Abner supporting Mrs. H., c. Tom 
and Lina looking on. Policy, r. with a red handker- 
chief to his eyes. Curtain. 



66 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



Act III. — Scene : Same as Act II. Mrs. How- 
land seated n. of table, handkerchief to her eyes. 

Mrs. H. A long, weary night of watching; the 
morning speeding fast, and still no signs of Alice. Her 
sudden disappearance, that suspicious note, may be 
to Abner's fretful nature sufficient proofs of guilt; but 
to me, her mother, they are nothing. She would never 
forsake me for a lover without my full consent. No, 
no ; I know my girl too well for that ; and though her 
absence may alarm me, I trust her fully. She can do 
no wrong. 

{Enter Newcomb, c. Stops in dooncay.) 

JYeiocomb. There she is ; seventy-five thousand vir- 
tues, neatly packed in bombazine and crape. A fortune 
just for the asking. Now's the time ; the promise of 
her hand must be mine ere the return of the victorious 
Spicer. I wish she was a trifle younger ; but, hang it ! 
where money is the mark, it won't do to stick at trifles 
(comes down u.) . Ahem! Mrs. Howland. 

Mrs. H. Well, Mr. Newcomb. 

Newcomb. Mrs. Howland — can — will — that is, 
do you — (Aside) Hang it, where's my tongue ? This 
business is not so easy as I imagined ; not a bit like 
insurance. (Aloud) Are you insured? No, no, — en- 
gaged ? Are you engaged ? 

Mrs. IT. Not at present, Mr. Newcomb. I will 
listen to you with pleasure. You were saying — 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 57 

JVeiccomb. Yes, thank you. I was saying — thank 
you (takes out handkerchief and wipes his face), it's 
very warm — 

Mrs. II. Yes, and you have been walking, and 
become heated. You should keep cool, Mr. JSTew- 
comb. 

JVewcomb. O, I do — I am. Just now, I'm abso- 
lutely shivering. Took a long walk this morning over 
to Mayburn. Saw your house. What a cosy little nest! 

Mrs. H. Do you think so ? 

JVeiocomb. O, splendid ; fit abode for gods and 
goddesses, satans, and those other paragorical things, 
you know ; quite poetic. Of course, it's insured — I 
mean comfortable. 

Mrs. JET. Very comfortable, Mr. Newcomb, but not 
insured. (Aside) He wants to make a penny by 
insuring it, I see that. 

JVewcomb. O, yes, yes ; pity it is tenantless. 

Mrs. H. It will be so no longer; indignant at Mr. 
Howland's suspicions, I propose this very day to quit 
this roof, and take possession of my own house. 

JVewcomb. Right. Mistress in your own house, 
you may laugh to scorn the suspicions of the world. 
But then you need a protector, Mrs. Howland, against 
the storms of — 

Mrs. H. A protector? Nonsense! with a light- 
ning-rod at every corner. . 

JVewcomb. Lightning-rods! thunder! I — I — beg 
pardon. 

Mrs. H. (aside). It's the old story. He wants to 
insure it. 



58 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

JVewcomb. Ah, Mrs. Howland, there are storms 
which surpass the fury of the elements. You in that 
lonely dwelling will require a protector that shall be 
like the sheet-anchor of hope in the convulsions of life, 
a protector that shall defy the threats of fate, the 
torch of incendiary — 

Mrs. H. Ah, Mr. Newcomb, you have fire in your 
eye. 

JVewcomb. Both of them, Mrs. Howland ; I can't 
help it. I blaze with excitement at the thought of you, 
a lonely woman in that lovely dwelling — no, a lovely 
dwelling in that lonely — pshaw ! — 

Mrs. H. I understand you perfectly, Mr. New- 
comb. You want to protect me ? 

JVewcomb. I do, I do, I do ! 

Mrs. H. Do you really think there is need of it ? 

JVewcomb. Let your own heart answer that question, 
Mrs. Howland. 

Mrs. JET. And the terms, Mr. Newcomb ? 

JVewcomb. On your own terms, Mrs. Howland. I 
am ready, willing, and eager to write you — ah, pro- 
tect you. 

Mrs. H. That's a very liberal offer. I never re- 
ceived such a one before. 

JVewcomb. Ah, Mrs. Howland, you flatter me. 

Mrs. JET. But my judgment has always been 
opposed to such proceedings. I dare not tempt Prov- 
idence. 

JVewcomb. (Aside) Opposed — proceedings — and 
she's buried one husband! (Aloud) Ah, Mrs. How- 
land, fear not ; lightning never strikes twice in the 
same place. 'Tis a safe investment. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 59 

Mrs. H. And you would advise me to take a 
policy ? 

JVewcomb (on his knees). I do; dear woman, I do. 
Take a policy — this Policy — and bid defiance to the 
storms of adversity, the billows of fate, the — the — 
O, I will be your sheet-anchor, your — your — 

Jlrs. IT. (rising). Mr. JSTewcomb, are you beside 
yourself? 

JVewcomb. No, I am beside you, waiting for your 
lovely hand to lift me to happiness ; your lovely voice 
to insure, — ahem, — assure me you will take this fond 
and loving Policy — 

Mrs. H. No more, sir. I thought that in your 
enterprising zeal you wished to insure my dwelling. 
I have been mistaken. Never address me in this man- 
ner again ; if you do, you may find I have a protector 
in Abner Howland, who would not hesitate to horse- 
whip you for insulting his brother's widow. [Exit l. 

Policy (still on his knees). Yes ; thank you. 
" She has gone from my gaze like a beautiful dream." 

Thus vanish my hopes of fortune, and Spicer is vic- 
torious (rises). 

(Enter Spofford cautiously, c. very dejected.) 

Spofford. Sh — sh — Are you alone, Newcomb ? 

JVewcomb. Ah, he's here. Welcome, victorious 
Spicer. 

Spofford. Don't, Newcomb, don't; it's deuced un- 
pleasant, you know, in my present crushed and forlorn 
condition. 

JVewcomb. What's the matter ? Where's the bride ? 



60 THE FLOWER OE THE FAMILY. 

Spofford. Don't, Newcomb, don't ! I weally can't 
stand it! I'm a martyr, you know. 

JVewcomb. You're a noodle ! Speak out, man. You 
eloped, didn't you ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! Splendid beginning, 
you know. I came in a buggy ; she came in a shawl 
and hat, with a deuced veil over her lovely face. 
Awful shy she was ; wouldn't speak a word, you know. 
So romantic. But she jumped into the buggy, and we 
drove to Mayburn. 

JVewcomb. Ah, like Csesar, " you came, you saw " — 

Spofford. You keep still, Newcomb. I didn't seize 
her; she went willingly. But I'd forgotten one im- 
portant item — to find out where the parson lived! 
Wouldn't do to ask her, you know — so I drove to the 
hotel, jumped out to inquire, leaving her in the buggy. 
When I came out, Miss Lina was gone ! 

JVewcomb. Yes; and in her place you found Miss 
Alice, the heiress. You're a lucky dog, Spiceiv 

Spofford. Miss — Miss — I don't understand, New- 
comb. 

JVewcomb. Miss Alice is the daughter of Mrs. How- 
land, the other only the adopted child of Abner 
Howland. They were both in love with you, and by 
stratagem Alice gained the place you designed for the 
other. So, you see, fate, and not your infernal head, 
has placed the winning card in your hand. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah! I see. But where is 
she? 

JVewcomb. Where you left her, of course. 

Spofford. In the buggy ? No, ISTewcomb ; you're 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 61 

wrong. "When I returned, the vehicle was empty. 
I've not seen her since. 

Newcomb. You surprise me. She left with you. She 
has not returned. 

Spofford. Not returned ! Good gracious, New- 
come, don't tell me that. I shall be arrested for kid- 
napping, you know. What's to be done ? 

Newcomb. Nonsense ; put a bold face on the mat- 
ter. She left with you — eloped, and thus has com- 
promised her fair fame. You're in luck again. Boldly 
ask Uncle Howland's consent to your marriage. He'll 
be glad enough to give it; and she'll be glad to marry 
you. You say she loves you ? 

Spofford. Of course ; she couldn't help it, you 
know. 

Newcomb. Then be resolute, and she is yours. 
Here comes Mr. Howland. Attack him boldly. 

Spofford. Attack him ? What for ? I wouldn't 
harm a hair of Ins head. 

Newcomb. Pshaw ! Boldly ask her hand. 

Spofford. He'll break my head. 

Newcomb. No matter ; it hasn't been of much use 
to you. No doubt you'll get along better without it. 
(Enter Abner, c.) 

Abner. How — you here, villain ? {seizes Spofford 
by the throat r. and shalces him). How dare you 
enter my house again ? A pretty scandal you've raised 
(shakes)^ rascal ! 

Spofford. Don't, Mr. Howland — please don't ; it 
hurts, you know. 

Newcomb. Spare the repentant prodigal, Mr. How- 
land, he comes to make reparation. 



62 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Abner. Reparation! What reparation can you 
make for this dastardly outrage? 

Spofford. I have come to ask your consent to our 
marriage. 

Abner (releasing him). That's something like. It's 
a pity you hadn't taken the straight road in the first 
place. 

JVewcomb. He feared you would frown upon his 
pretensions ; so, like a skilful general, has taken posses- 
sion of the town before he makes terms. Ah, Mr. 
Howland, love, young love will dare much — (aside) 
for money. 

Abner. So you wish to marry Alice. (Aside) It's 
the only course left after this elopement, and it will 
remove him from Lina's path. (Aloud) You will 
marry her at once ? 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I love her to distrac- 
tion. Give your consent, and I can gain hers. 
(Enter Mes. Howland, l.) 

Abner. Very well. I've no doubt you're a very 
nice young man; and you have my free consent to 
marrv Alice Howland, — the sooner the better. 

Mrs. H. And I forbid the banns. 

Abner. Mary, you are crazy. (Aside) She eloped 
with him. She must and shall marry him, to save her 
reputation and our honor. 

Mrs. H. You have no right to plan and plot in her 
absence. ( To Spofford.) Sir, where is my daugh- 
ter? 

Abner. Hiding until her lover there wins our con- 
sent to their marriage. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



63 



{Enter Alice, c.)* 

Alice. 'Tis false ! She is here to answer for herself. 

Spofford (r. c. -to JNewcomb, r.). O, it's all up. 

Neiccomb. It's all right ; stick to your text. Don't 
give up the girl. Seventy-five thousand reasons 
asrainst it. 

Mrs. II. {running up to Alice in door). O, Alice, 
child, where have you been ? 

Alice {clasping her in her arms). On an errand, 
mother, full of promise. Good morning, nunky ; are 
you very, very angry ? {Enter Lina, r.) Lina, dar- 
ling, here I am, safe and sound. 

Lina. Where' have you been? {going towards 
Alice.) 

Abner {stepping before her). Stop ! There must be 
no communication between you and that misguided 
girl until this serious business is settled. 

(Alice goes down to l., followed by her mother. 
Newcomb, r., Spofford with him. Lina, r. c. Abner, 
c. Alice, l. c. Mrs. H., l. Alice Howl and.) 

Alice. Now, nunky, don't be angry ; it's only one 
of my frolics, you know. 

Abner. Look at this gentleman — Mr. Spicer Spof- 
ford. 

Alice. How do do, Spicer? {Laughs) Ha, ha, ha! 

Abner. Silence ! This gentleman has asked your 
hand in marriage of me, your guardian, since you are 
a member of my household. What is your answer? 

Alice. What was yours, nunky ? He didn't ask me. 

Abner. I gave my full consent. 

Alice. Then he must be perfectly satisfied. 



64 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Abner. And you will marry him ? 

Alice. Let me look at him (crosses/ goes round 
Spofford, eying him from head to foot, Spofford 
turning and facing her as she goes. She then returns 
to r. a). I'd rather not, if you please, nunky. 

Spofford. And that is your answer ? 

Atice {imitating'). Yah, yah, yah ! Made it out of 
my own head, Spicer. 

Spofford (to Newcomb). She's laughing at me. 

JVewcomb. They laugh who win. You wait. 

Abner. Alice, it grieves me that you refuse to take 
the only course that can justify your absence from my 
roof the past night. It is my duty to guard my daugh- 
ter from intercourse with one so reckless of reputa- 
tion. 

Alice. One moment, uncle. Lives have been ru- 
ined, hearts broken, by the poisonous breath of sus- 
picion. Pause, ere you make the child of your dead 
brother a mark for the unmerciful to assail with slan- 
derous tongue. I can justify my absence. 

Abner. Only by consenting to become that man's 
wife. 

Alice. . Never ! Never ! 

Abner. Then you must quit my house. 

Lina. O, father ! 

Abner. Peace, my child ; your fair fame must be 
protected. She must quit this house at once. 

Mrs. H. Let us go, my child. The old house is 
still left us. 

Abner. No, no ; not you, Mary. I cannot spare 
you. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



65 



Mrs. H. Nor I my Alice. Better so ; mother and 
child will not be parted. 

Abner. Alice, would you rob your mother of her 
good home ? 

Alice. Uncle, would you rob me of my good name ? 

Abner. 'Tis your own fault. Marry Spofford. 

Alice. Never ! Never ! 

Abner. Then go, ungrateful child, go ! 

Alice. No ; I will not leave this place until I have 
justified my actions. Uncle, you must — you shall 
hear me. 

Abner. Will you marry that man? 

Alice. Yes. 

Abner. How ? 

Mrs. H. Alice! 

JVewcomb. It's all right, Spofford : I told you so. 

Alice. On one condition. 

JVewcomb. O, hang it ! 

Alice. You shall hear my story. If you then desire 
it, I will marry him. 

Abner. H'm ! Well, go on. 

Alice. I do confess I left this house in Mr. Spof- 
ford's company. 

Abner. The truth at last. 

Alice. Every word, nunky. By him I was driven 
to Mayburn. 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I'll swear to that. 

Alice. He left me in the carriage while he entered 
the hotel. Left alone, I leaped from the buggy, and 
vanished from his sight. 

Abner. Indeed ! Who will swear to that ? 
5 



66 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

(Miter Oscae, c.) 

Oscar. I will, guardy. 

Abner. What ? Oscar Loring ! 

Alice. Oscar ! (He goes l.) 

Lima. Oscar ! 

JVewcomb. Now, who the deuce is Oscar ? 

Abner (grasping his hands). Welcome, welcome 
home, my boy ! Lina, here he is. Alice — Ah, I 
forgot. 

Oscar (crosses to Lina). Have I been properly 
introduced ? (shahes hands.) 

Lina. Welcome, welcome home ! 

Oscar. Thank you. ( Crosses to Alice.) And what 
says Miss Nobody ? (shakes hands.) 

Alice. I knew you was a prince in disguise. 

Abner. Oscar, Oscar, one moment. That young 
lady at present is in disgrace. 

Alice. No, nunky — on trial. 

Oscar. Then I am here to be her advocate. I've 
heard queer stories of an elopement, and think I can 
help on the denouement. 

Alice. You ? 

Oscar. Yes, I. 

Abner. That young lady eloped last night with 
that gentleman, Mr. Spicer Spofford. 

Oscar. Did she? Then it must have been the 
runaway couple I saw drive up to the hotel at May- 
burn, where the young lady left her gallant and took 
refuge in the little house opposite. 

Mrs. H. Our old home at Mayburn ! 

Alice. Where I passed the night alone. 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 67 

Oscar. Not quite alone, for I was her companion. 

All. You ! 

Oscar. Her unseen companion. You must know 
I am rather inquisitive ; and on seeing this young lady 
— whom I recognized — desert her companion and en- 
ter the tenantless house, I was very curious to know 
what it all meant. So, leaving our spectacled friend 
searching for her, I lighted my cigar, strolled over 
under the trees, and watched. Soon I saw a light in 
one of the lower rooms ; then it passed to another ; 
then up stairs ; in short, I saw that slender flame 
appear and disappear, first in one place, then another, 
for two mortal hours ; finally, it disappeared. Still I 
watched. I must have smoked a dozen cigars, and I've 
had no breakfast. An hour ago the door opened, the 
young lady appeared, started in the direction of your 
house, guardy, and I have followed her. 

{Enter Tom, c.) 

Tom. I'll swear to that. How are you, old fel- 
low? 

Oscar. Ah, glad to see you again, my boy. 

Abner. Oscar Loring ! Tom ! 

Tom. I know. I've been in the secret. 

Lina. You have ? and didn't tell me ? 

Tom. No ; spoiled your little flirtation, Lina. 

Lina. O, you nuisance ! 

Tom. Ah ! you baggage ! 

Mrs.H. Children! 

Abner. But here's mystery piled on mystery. Is 
anybody sane enough to tell me what it's all about? 

Alice, c. Let me speak, uncle, for I alone can 



68 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

clear it. You see I have a witness to my disappear- 
ance and reappearance. 

* Abner. Yes, that's all right. But why were you in 
the house ? 

Alice. For your sake, nunky. Yesterday morning 
I overheard two individuals in this house — who shall 
be nameless — concocting a villanous plot — 

Spofford. The game's up, Newcomb. 

Newcomb. It does look hazy. 

Alice. — By which I learned that you, nunky, are 
embarrassed, and that a keeper had been placed in 
your house. I further learned that my father had left, 
somewhere, the power to save you. I took advantage 
of a note which was not meant for me. 

Abner. Not meant for you ? {looks at her, then 
at Lin a, who turns away her head. Abner whistles). 
Go on. 

Alice. I reached the old house by stratagem, and 
commenced my search. For hours I ransacked every 
accessible hiding-place, and had about given up the 
search, when, in closing a drawer, this ring, my father's 
gift, was caught, and attracted my attention ; the 
motto, " Search the Scriptures," seemed at that mo- 
ment an inspiration, for I flew to father's room. There 
on the bureau reposed his inseparable companion — a 
pocket-bible, — this — {produces booh). I opened it ; 
and there, neatly folded, was this {opens book and 
unfolds policy) . 

JVewcomb. The policy for twenty-five thousand dol- 
lars? 

/Spofford. On the Bowcliffe office ? 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 



69 



Alice. Right. A paper which, presented at that 
office, will place in your hands, nunky, a sum sufficient 
to free you from embarrassment. 

Abner. And you would give this to me ? 

Alice. With mother's consent. 

Mrs. H. Do with it as you please ; I detest policies. 

Abner. I'm an old fool. You'd have done this for 
me, and I would have turned you out of doors. O, 
child, child ! you have made me ashamed of myself! 
{clasps her in his arms). 

Alice. Shall I marry Mr. Spofford? Tis to him 
we are indebted for all this good fortune. He came 
all the way from the Bowcliffe office to let us know 
of it — 

Spofford. Yah, yah, yah ! I'll swear to that. 

' Alice. — After he should have succeeded in marry- 
ing a daughter of Mrs. Howland ! 

Abner. The villain ! I see it all. No, no, Alice, I 
was wrong. The old selfish feeling got possession of 
me ; but now, he must not only be a bold man but a 
noble one who could gain my consent. 

Oscar. What say you to me, guardy ? 

Abner. You ? Why, you are promised to another ; 
she'd break her heart — The Flower of the Family ! 

Oscar. Ah, guardy, who is The Flower of the 
Family ? 

Abner. Why, my — (looks at Lin a ; hesitates, looks 
at Alice). She of course who at another's need would 
dare all to become an angel of mercy (takes Alice in 
his arms). She's here. 

Alice. And you will use the policy to free you from 



70 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

that debt which makes it necessary to keep that man 
Newcomb in the house. 

Abner. No, child, for Oscar has returned ; he will 
aid me until the arrival of the White Squall. 

Oscar. The "White Squall has arrived. She was 
signalled when I left May burn. 

Abner. Then I have no need of help. 

Spofford (to Newcomb). Hadn't we better be 
going ? I've made an ass of myself. 

Newcomb. So you have ; all out of your own head. 
(Coming forward?) Mrs. Howland, I rejoice at your 
good fortune. Here you have another proof of the 
inestimable benefits of insurance. The man is taken 
off; but when he leaves behind such solid comfort as 
that policy will give, the widow's heart must leap for 

joy- 

Abner, Your further services can be dispensed with, 
Mr. Newcomb. I will settle with your employer this 
very day. As for you, Mr. Spofford — 

Spofford (alarmed). Spare me. I'll see the policy 
paid at once. It was only a joke, you know. Made it 
out of my own head. Come, Newcomb, let's be going. 

Abner. Go, fools ; and learn by this experience that 
Honesty is the best Policy. 

Newcomb. Honesty ! What's that ? The best pol- 
icies are put out by the Burst-up and Blow-up, the 
Never-say-Die, and the — 

Abner (takes him by the ear and leads him up to 
door). I am sorry to be obliged to put out a very bad 
Policy. 

Newcomb (at door). Thank you. I'll call again 



THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 71 

when you're at leisure. I want to ask a very im- 
portant question. 

Abner. What is that ? 

JVewcomb. Are you insured ? \_Mcits c. 

Abner. Now, Mr. Spofford, shall I attend you ? 

Spofford. Don't trouble yourself {backs up to door, 
holding on to his ears). I can find the way out. Yah, 
yah, yah ! {turns and runs off c). 

Abner. Good riddance ! {Comes down) Now, my 
dear boy, let me present you in due form to the fair 
being I have pictured to you, whom I have reared to 
become your wife. Lina, my child ! 

Lina, k. c. Not me, uncle! I do not deserve 
him. I have deceived you. 

Abner, You deceived me! 

Lina. Yes; my heart has long been given to an- 
other. 

Abner. And that other ? 

Tom, k. {talcing Lina's hand.) Your unworthy 
nephew. 

Lina. Yes, uncle ; I love Tom, and Tom loves me. 

Tom. Heart and soul. 

Abner. What! you two? Why, you fight like 
cats and dogs! 

Lina. Only before company. 

Tom. Preparatory lessons in connubial bliss. 

Lina. Tom, you wretch ! 

Tom. Lina, you darling! 

Abner. I see it all. I've been humbugged. But 
what's to become of you, Oscar ? 



72 THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 

Oscar. I leave my fate in these dear hands which 
once saved me from a watery grave. 

Alice. A very shallow one — two feet of water. 
Ha, ha, ha! 

Abner. More mystery. When shall we get at the 
bottom of it ? 

Mrs. H., c. When I understand how Gordon Howland 
could have insured his life without my knowing it. 

Tom. When Lina is my darling wife. 

Lina. And we shall begin to quarrel in earnest. 

Oscar. When I become the sole owner of this 
charming life-preserver. 

Alice. And my dream shall come true after all. 

Abner. All for self. Well, have your way. The 
old man plotted and failed. The young romp, whom 
nobody dreamed had the power, has outwitted a pair 
of scoundrels. 

Alice. For which she takes no credit. The ring 
with its precious motto has been the talisman to suc- 
cess. 

Abner. And the genius of the ring proved herself, 
after all, The Flower of the Family. 

Abner, c. Mrs. Howland. 
e. Lina, Tom. Oscar, Alice, l. 

( Curtain.) 




<\ 

A 

<\ 

w 
p. 

P. 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

A FARCE. 



CHARACTERS. 



Captain Boliver BoBSTAy, "Mysteriously disappeared." 

Charles Cleverly, an Amateur Farmer. 

Dixon Dolby, out for a Day's Sport. 

Carlos Carrots, a Farm Hand. 

Mrs. Cleverly, Charles's Wife. 

Nelly Cleverly, Charles's Sister. 

Miss Persis Grievous, " Widow Bobstay." 



COSTUMES. 



Captain. Wide-bottomed trousers, and "Reefer" of blue; 
blue shirt; black handkerchief; bald wig for own; black- 
wig and big black whiskers for disguise. 

Dolby. Checkered suit ; gaiters ; Jockey cap. 

Charles. Blue flannel suit ; wide-brimmed straw hat. 

Carlos. Wide straw hat ; heavy shoes ; blue stockings ; short 
pants ; and jacket open ; with red or yellow waistcoat ; red 
wig. 

Nelly. Pretty muslin dress, with apron and morning cap. 

Mrs. C. Morning dress. 

Miss Persis. Red wig, with long curls. Dress very high- 
colored ; spectacles of a light blue ; hat. She is rather old, 
with affected girlish dress and ways. 

73 



74 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Scene. — Sitting-room in farm-house. Door in flat 
c. Windoio in flat l. Lounge wider windoio. 
Table l. corner, back, with cover, books, and floio- 
ers. /Small table, e. c. Arm-chair, l. c. Chair, 
l., near first entrance. Door e. and l. Nelly dis- 
covered dusting. 

Nelly {throwing brush on lounge). That will do for 
to-day. It's time Carlos were back from the post-office. 
I am anxious to obtain a letter from my invisible 
adorer, Dixon Dolby. How my good brother would 
open his eyes if he knew the extent of my wickedness. 
Three months ago, six of us girls at school, desirous of 
acquiring proficiency in correspondence, agreed to write 
to gentlemen whom we had never met, but whom we 
knew by reputation to be gentlemen. My choice was 
my brother's chum before his marriage, Dixon Dolby. 
My plan succeeded admirably. He answered the note 
signed, Rosa Bean. The most tender and impassioned 
epistles followed on both sides, until at last he had the 
impudence to request an exchange of photographs. I 
consented, but was not fool enough to allow him to 
discover my identity ; so, to secure his, I sent instead 
a photograph of my brother's wife. I knew they had 
never met, but they must ; and when they do, won't 
there be fun. I only hope I shall be at the denouement. 
Ah ! here's Carlos. 

{Enter Caelos, c, with two letters and a paper.) 
Well, Carlos, what success? 

Carlos {putting letters behind him). Hey?* What'll 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 75 

you give to know ? Ought to give a feller somethin' 
purty sweet, cos I ran all the way. 

Nelly. Indeed I will, Carlos. My warmest thanks 
and my sweetest smile. 

Carlos. Is that all ? Well, here's a letter {gives 
her a letter). 

Nelly. O, thank yon, Carlos. You're a dear, good 
boy {takes letter, and sits in arm-chair, l.). 

Carlos {comes down r., puts neiospaper on table). 
Kinder thought I might get somethin' sweeter ; a kiss, 
perhaps. But I s'pose she was afraid somebody might 
be lookin'. I wouldn't a cared if they had. She's jest 
as purty as a pictur ; and I kinder think she hankers 
arter me. I jest like her, you bet! Wish sometimes 
I could be a caterpillar, and crawl under her purty feet. 
I couldn't be more smashed than I am now. Wal, I'll 
go and hunt up Mr. Cleverly with the other letter {goes 
up c). Nothin' wantin', Miss Nelly ? 

Nelly. Nothing ; thank you, Carlos. 

Carlos {at door). O, she's a beauty. Takes such 
pains to call me Carlos. Mr. Cleverly he always calls 
me Careless, 'cause he says it's my natur. [Exit c. 

Nelly {takes photograph from letter). There he is ; 
charming fellow. He has no idea I am the sister of his 
best friend. Not bad-looking {holds photograph up). 
{Enter Mrs. Cleverly with hat and shawl, door l. 

She looks over Nelly's shoulder at picture.) 
A girl might be happy with such a man. I've no doubt 
I shall blush when we meet. ( To photograph.) You 
dear fellow, you are good-looking and smart — 

Mrs. C. Indeed he is, Nelly. 




76 A MYSTEEIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Nelly {jumping up). O, good gracious! you here? 

Mrs. C. Have I disturbed your devotions ? Who 
is he ? When will it be ? 

Nelly {imts photograph in her bosom). Nonsense ; 
it's only a slight acquaintance. 

3frs. C- Tou do not slight his picture. I should 
say he was a bosom-friend. Where 's Charley ? 

Nelly. Out on the farm, hilling corn, I believe. 

3Irs. C. Poor fellow ! how his corns must ache ! 
and his back. Ha, ha, ha ! He works so hard to make 
a pleasure of what he does not enjoy. Nell, tell him, 
if he comes in, I've run over to Mrs. Young's to borrow 
her pat. I won't be gone long. \_Exit c. 

^Nelly. She saw him, but she doesn't know him. If 
she only knew what he received in exchange. Well, 
I'm not going to spoil a frolic for fear of the conse- 
quences. 

Charles (outside). Hang the corn, Careless ; my 
back 's nearly broken now. 

{Enter c. with a hoe, followed by Carlos.) 

Carlos. How about the onions, sir? 

Charles. How about them as much as you like, but 
no hoe about them for me. 

Carlos. They won't be worth a cent. 

Charles. Well, don't get sentimental over them, 
Careless. They're not worth weeping over ; no, Care- 
less. I've set myself up for an independent farmer, 
and there's no clause regarding hoeing in my declara- 
tion of independence. You shall have a holiday : you 
needn't work to-day. You're not very fond of it at 
any time ; but this day we have a visitor. 

Nelly. A visitor ? 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 77 

Charles. Yes, Nelly. I've got word from him ; he's 
coming down for a day's sport. The very man I've 
picked, out to lead you to the hymeneal altar. 

Carlos. Gosh all hemlock ! 

Charles. What's the matter, Careless ? 

Carlos. Me — I — * nothin' ; only a darned skeeter 
up my nose. 

Kelly. Picked out for me ? Thank you ; I can do 
my own picking. 

Charles. And your own leading too. You're smart 
enough to do the leading business. Where's Jenny, 
" the girl I left behind me " ? 

Nelly. She left before you — came in. She ran 
over to Mrs. Young's to borrow her pat. 

Charles. Her Pat ? Haven't I told her I wouldn't 
have an Irishman on the place ? 

Nelly. Ha, ha, ha ! It's a butter pat. 

Carlos. Ho, ho, ho ! 

Charles. What's the matter with you, Careless ? 
{Carlos looks sober.) Do that again, and you'll get 
anything but a pat. Go, make yourself presentable ; 
put your auburn locks in curl-papers, and wash your 
face. You shall guide my friend in his day's sport. 

Carlos. Yes, sir. {Aside) He's going to lead her 
with a halter, is he? I'll show him sport. \_Exit c. 

Charles. Yes, Nelly, we're to have a visit from my 
old chum, Dixie Dolby. 

Nelly. Good gracious ! he coming here ? 

Charles. Yes ; for the first time ; and to the coun- 
try for the first time, too. This little matrimonial 
scheme of mine is the only secret 1 ever had from him. 



78 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

He didn't know I was courting Jenny Bobstay until 
he received my wedding-cards. Wasn't he surprised ? 
No more than I, however. Just a year ago, that high- 
ly respectable old mariner, Captain Boliver Bobstay, 
mysteriously disappeared from Valparaiso, where the 
stanch bark " Indigo Blue " was waiting for a cargo. 
His coat and hat were found upon the pier ; but the 
wearer never did appear upon that pier again. 

Nelly. And he was not heard of again ? 

Charles. No. Yes. Six months ago, Jenny re- 
ceived a deed of this place from Uncle Bobstay. How 
it came, or where it came from, nobody knew ; but it 
was found all right, and being a nice cosy place here, 
we married and settled upon it three months ago. 

Nelly. But, Charley, your friend — 

Charles. O, yes ; Dolby — clever fellow. You've 
never met him, Nelly ? 

Nelly. No. I've often heard you speak of him, 
and feel inclined to like him. 

Charles. I know you will, Nelly. Now let's have 
something nice for dinner, in honor of our guest ; some- 
thing extra, you know. 

Nelly. I'll look after the dinner. When he comes, 
we shall have something extra. [Exit e. 

Charles. She's a nice girl. I hope Dixie will like 
her. To think of his coming down here to see me a 
married man. Why, I should almost as soon expect 
Uncle Bobstay to walk in at my door. 
{Miter c. Bobstay. He has a black wig and black 

whiskers.) 

bobstay (at door). Avast there! Are the decks 
clear ? Sh — 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 79 

Charles. Hallo ! Who have we here ? Come in. 

Bobstay (comes down r.). All right, ray hearty. 
When a messmate 's going down in the briny — for the 
last time, mind — what do we do ? Why, we extends 
a helping hand, and grabs him by the hair of the head, 
don't we ? 

Charles. That is the first impulse — unless he's bald. 

Bobstay {extending hand). Put it there; give ns 
your flipper {they shake hands). All right. Here's 
your hand and 'ere's my head. Take a good hold of 
it, as if I was agoin' down for the last time. Now, 
steady. (Charles takes hold of his wig, and Bob- 
stay seizes his beard.) Let fall all ! (He stands back, 
pulling off whiskers. Charles pulls off wig.) 

Charles. Uncle Bobstay! 

JBobstay. Hush ! Easy, Charley, easy. Bobstay 
of the Indigo Blue, he went up — no, down — least- 
wise he went off. I'm a sperit, you understand? I'm 
the Ancient Mariner — Captain Kyd — the Great Un- 
known — anything you please but Bobstay. He mys- 
teriously disappeared ; let him be missed. 

Charles. But what have you been doing? What's 
the trouble? 

Bobstay. A deep one — deeper than the sea. Hush ! 
Put it there (shakes hands). There's a woman at the 
bottom. 

Charles. At the bottom of the sea ? Good gra- 
cious ! 

JBobstay. No. I wish she was, Charley. Put it 
there (shakes hands). You've heard me speak of 
Spanker, skipper of the Venetian Red ? 



80 A MYSTEBIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Charles. Many a time. He was a particular friend 
of yours, I believe. 

JBobstay. Charley, listen to a tale that would make 
the marines blush. When I reached Valparaiso on 
my last run, I found the Venetian Red there before 
me ; but I found that Spanker had " mysteriously dis- 
appeared."* His hat and coat were found upon the 
pier, and he was supposed to be beneath the waves. 

Charles. What a coincidence ! 

JBobstay. Charley, he left a widow. I found her 
in Venetian Red onboard the mourning black, — no — 
in mourning red on board the Venetian — 

Charles. No matter about the colors ; go on. 

JBobstay. Charley, she was in distress ; and did you 
ever hear of a tar who found a lass in distress, and 
deserted her ? Never. In a week I had asked her to 
marry me. In ten days we were married in church. 

Charles. Married ! Then you are — 

JBobstay. Mysteriously disappeared ; that's the p'int. 
We were married in church. And now for an aston- 
ishing disclosure. When we came out of church, who 
should I see but Spanker — the dead and gone Spank- 
er — peeping round a corner, with a grin on his face 
and a finger on his nose. 

Charles. What ! Why, this is bigamy ! 

JBobstay. What-amy ? 'Twas a swindle ! 

Charles. Unhappy man ! How did you act ? What 
did you say ? 

JBobstay. I said nothing ; put the lady, Mrs. Spank- 
er Bobstay, into the carriage, shut the door, and myste- 
riously disappeared. 

* A wink and finger on side of nose when these words are 
used through the play. 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 81 

Charles. And your wife ? 

Bobstay. Avast there ! She's Spanker's wife. 

Charles. But he basely deserted her. 

Bobstay. So did I. Mysteriously disappeared. 

Charles. But where have you been? What have 
you been doing all this -time ? 

Bobstay. Pursuing the phantom ship, Sylvester 
Spanker. 

Charles. Have you any trace of him? 

Bobstay. Trace, my hearty ? He's made a clean 
run, blast his toplights ! 

Charles. Then she is yours now. 

Bobstay. Is she? That's a p'int for the sharks to 
argue. I didn't marry his widow ; I couldn't marry 
his wife ; and yet I'm a married man. 

Charles. But you love her, captain ? 

Bobstay. Ease off a bit. If Spanker mysteriously 
disappeared, there's reason for Spanker's disappearance. 
And as the aforesaid widow, when I married her, who 
didn't prove to be a widow after I married her, boxed 
my ears twice afore the ceremony, the p'ints of my 
matrimonial compass don't p'int that way much. 

Charles. But where is she ? 

Bobstay. In chase of another craft, my boy. Close- 
reefed, to overhaul a young spark, with a view to en- 
gage him. Shall I destroy his happiness ? That's a 
p'int. Shall I appear like a spectre and forbid the 
banns ? That's another p'int. No, my boy. I'll settle 
down here; keep under water till she's fairly hooked. 

Charles. But suppose Spanker should turn up? 

Bobstay. That's a p'int we can't argue. Mum's the 
6 



82 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

word. I'm a spirit. Bobstay 's gone up. Keep dark. 
Not a word to your wife now. 

Charles. But Jenny don't know you are here ! 

Bobstay. No ? I'll hide in the barn — in the pig- 
sty — anywhere until the widow 's hooked. 
{Enter Carlos, c. from l.) 

Carlos. Say, Mr. Cleverly, here's a woman wants 
to see you. [Exit c. to e. 

Bobstay. A woman ? Then I'll get under hatches 
{runs to table e. c. and puts on wig and whiskers). 
That used to be my state-room. I'll look it over. Mind, 
Charley, mum's the word. I'm a spirit ; mysteriously 
disappeared. You understand ? [Exit door e. 

Charles. But I say, captain ! — He's pitched into 
Nelly's room. . No matter. I'll have him out as soon 
as I've finished with my visitor. Who can she be ? 
{Enter c, Miss Peesis Geievous, tragically.) 

Per sis, c. You are Mr. Charles Cleverly ? 

Charles. At your service, madam. 

Per sis. Monster ! Traitor ! Arch conspirator ! 

Charles. Madam ! 

Persis. You are the friend of Dixon Dolby. My 
Dixie. You have enticed him from my loving pres- 
ence ; from me, the woman who adores him ; for what ? 

Charles. A day's sport, he says. 

Persis. Sport ! You are like the wicked boy, and 
I the innocent frog. What's sport to you is death to 
me. Last night he told me of his proposed visit. This 
morning I found in his room beneath his pillow — for 
we both lodge beneath the same roof; and I, in his 
absence, enter his sanctum as a privileged guest of 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 83 

* 

that dear and worthy Mrs. Sprygs, who lets rooms at 
five dollars per week, lights included — 

Charles (aside). For particulars, see small bills. 

Persis. — Beneath the pillow, which his ambrosial 
locks had pressed, I found this note, and this picture 
{shows photograpli). Do you recognize it? 

Charles (looks at photograph). Good heavens ! 
My wife ! 

JPersis. Your wife ? Then you, like me, are a vic- 
tim. I blush for my anger. Let us in each other's 
arms mingle our tears (approaching Charles with 
arms extended). 

Charles {baching to r.). Not just yet. Explain 
this, and at once. 

Per sis. Does it need explanation ? Here is the 
picture, and here the note signed Rosa Bean. A clan- 
destine correspondence. I see it all, at once. Under 
the pretext of a play's sport, he comes here to make 
love to your wife. 

Charles. The confounded scoundrel ! 

JPersis. Speak gently of the erring. I love him. 
Yes, spite his faults, I love him still. I am here to 
save him — to save you. I am a succoring angel. 

Charles. Give me that note (takes note). Not my 
wife's handwriting; evidently disguised. O, Jenny, 
Jenny, have I lost you? 

Per sis. O, Dixie, Dixie, have I lost you? 

Dolby (outside). Hallo ! Charley, old boy, where 
are you? 

Per sis. His voice. How it thr-r-r-ills me ! But he 
must not see me here. Where can I hide ? ( Goes to 



84 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

door l.) In this room ? Get him away, and I will 
return. Then we can make plans to circumvent them. 

\_Exit door l. 

Charles. But, madam, that's my wife's room. She's 
gone. Can I be awake ? My Jenny corresponding 
with my friend ! And he in love ? O, it's absurd ! 

(Dolby appears at door with a fishing-rod in case, 
a gun, and a scoop-net with handle, clumsily held in 
his arms ; a game-bag swung one side, and a fishing- 
basket the other.) 

Dolby. Ah, there you are, Charley. And here I am, 
armed and equipped as the law directs. (Attempts to 
enter/ gun gets across the doorway. Macks and tries 
again ; net gets across the doorway, business re- 
peated.) Well, well, this is getting interesting (enters). 
Ah ! here we are (drops everything on floor, and runs 
to Charles, hands extended). How are you, old fel- 
low ? Alive and kicking ? Domestic bliss and rural 
felicity ? Happy chap ! 

Charles (shakes hatids). Glad to see you, Dixie. 
Welcome. 

Dolby. That's hearty. Where's your wife ? Must 
see her, you know. I came to enjoy the beauties of the 
country, and you've the brightest and loveliest. I 
know you know — of course you know. 

Charles (aside). He knows, confound him ! (Aloud) 
She's out just now. You shall see her. 

Dolby. Now let's see — what shall we do first ? 
There's fishing, hunting, and making love to a pretty 
girl. I've only a day, and we must crowd lots of fun 
into ten hours. 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 85 

Charles. Well, what say you to lunch first ? 

Dolby. Nothing for me, save a glass of warm milk 
from the hands of a dairymaid. I've come down here 
to breathe the country air. Stop a moment. I forgot 
that (runs up to door c. and stands breathing hard, and 
striking his breast). Ah, that's the sort; the invigor- 
ating air of the country. Ah ! (with a long breath) 
there's the first dose. 

(Enter Nelly, r. Dolby comes down l.) 

Charles. And here's the dairymaid. My sister, 
Dixie. Mr. Dixon Dolby, Nelly. 

Dolby. Ah, delightful (bows). What a pretty girl ! 
What cheeks ! What a shape ! 

Nelly. Your first visit to the country, Mr. Dolby ? 

Dolby. I'm ashamed to say it is, Miss Nelly. But 
it's delightful ; such a quantity of trees and grass ; 
houses not quite so plenty. 

Charles. Mr. Dolby would like a glass of milk. 

Dolby. Yes, thank you; cow's milk, if the cows are 
at leisure. 

Nelly. O, quite. I'll bring it at once. \_Exit r. 

Dolby. Charley, my boy, your sister 's a perfect 
beauty. 

Charles. Sit down, Dolby (Dolby brings chair up 
to table l. Charles brings one down from back; they 
sit r. and^L.) I had hopes that you would come down 
here heart-whole ; but I learn that you are already 
engaged in a love affair. 

Dolby. Don't mention it (Persis opens door, steps 
out, and listens). The most absurd thing ; a little 
country-house flirtation with a lady old enough to be 
my mother. 



86 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Persis. The wretch ! 

Dolby. Unfortunately, one evening I lay upon my 
bed, smoking and reading, with my door open into 
the passage, on the farther side of which is located the 
room of Miss Persis Grievous. Well, I dropped off to 
sleep, the pipe dropped from my mouth, and I was 
awakened by the cry of "fire," and a brisk shaking 
from my female friend across the passage. I had set 
fire to the bed, which was easily put out ; not so the 
flame which had been kindled in the breast of my fair 
but aged deliverer. 

Persis. The heartless scoundrel ! 

Dolby. From that time she has pursued me with 
a relentless love. I cannot escape her. 

Charles. And you are engaged ? 

Dolby. Not exactly. Pegoty is willing, but Barkis 
is not ; for, Charley, I am in love with a phantom. 

Charles. Then you'd better give up the ghost, and 
make Persis happy. 

Dolby. No ; I can never love but one, " Rosa Bean." 
Isn't that a pretty name ? I'll show you her face 
{hunts pockets). Confound it, I've left her photograph 
under my pillow ! 

Persis. O, the wretch ! I'll never forgive him — 
never — {disappears into room l.). 
{Enter Nelly, e. with glass pitcher of milk and goblet.) 

Nelly. Here's the milk, Mr. Dolby. 

Dolby. O, thank you {she fills goblet, standing be- 
hind table. Dolby tofe). Here's your best health. 
Ah, what milk ! I haven't tasted anything like that 
since I was — a very little child. 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 87 

Nelly. Can I bring you anything else ? 

Dolby. No, I'm obliged to you. By the way, is 
there a young lady in the neighborhood named " Rosa 
Bean " ? 

Nelly. " Bean " — " Bean " — No. There are no 
Beans here ; there's a Rosa Higgins about half a mile 
from here. 

Dolby. O, she won't do. 

Charles. There are Rows of Beans in the garden ; 
how will those suit, Dixie ? Ha, ha, ha ! 

Nelly. To which I will introduce you at dinner. 
Good-bye till then. \JExit k. 

Dolby. Good-bye (rises and puts back chair to l. 
Charles rises). Now, then, Charley, let's try the fish 
(takes his pole and net). 

Charles. Really, Dixie, I cannot leave the house 
just now. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send my man 
with you, and join you soon (goes to door a). Here, 
Careless ! Careless ! 

Carlos (enter a). Yes, sir. Here I am ! 

Charles. Careless, show this gentleman to the fish- 
ing-pond. (Dolby at back, busies himself toith tackle.) 

Carlos. Fishing-pond ! Where 's that ? 

Charles (aside). Shut up, you fool! Behind the 
barn. 

Carlos. Ho, ho, ho ! that 's a pretty fishing-pond ! 
Why, there 's nothin' there 'cept skeeters ! 

Charles. Well, they bite, don't they ? You'd bet- 
ter take Towzer along with you, he wants exercise. 

Carlos. Towzer? Why, he's not sociable with 
strangers. 



88 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Charles. Do as I bid you. 

Carlos. All right, Mister. Come along, sir — I'll 
show you sport! 

Dolby. That's the sort. 

Carlos. What kind of fishing do you like best ? 
Do'nt make any difference here. (Aside) Have to fish 
a darn long spell afore you get any. 

Dolby. Well, s'pose we try for cod — no, I mean 
mackerel. Any blue-fish about here ? 

Carlos, Ho, ho, ho ! 

Charles. Careless ! 

Carlos. Blue-fish ? Wal, no ; we're out of blue-fish 
to-day. (Aside) Lord, he is green ! 

Dolby. No matter ; lead me to the lake where sport 
the finny tribe. 

Carlos. Funny what ? Gosh all hemlock ! thought 
you was going a fishing ! 

Dolby. O, come along, it's getting late. Good- 
bye, Charley. Don't forget I must see your wife. 

\_JExit c. 

Carlos. Say, Mister, who's agoin' to dig the bait, 
say ? [Exit c. 

Charles. Still harping on my wife. I'll know the 
meaning of this ere I am an hour older. 
(Enter PEESis/rom door l.) 

Persis. At last he is gone, and we may arrange 
our plans. 

Dobstay (opens door r.). Ahoy, Charley ! (Peesis 
screams, and runs into room l. Enter Bobstay.) 
Aha! a woman ! Who is it? (Creeps across stage 
on tiptoe, and peeps into keyhole, door l.) 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 89 

Charles {seizes him by arm and whirls him to r.). 
What are you about, captain ? There's a lady in that 
room. 

Bobstay. I must have a peep at her {runs up and 
looks into keyhole*). Ah, ha! 'tis she ! {falls back into 
Charles's arms). 

Charles. She ! Who ? 
Bobstay {recovering himself). Hush ! Spanker's wife ! 
My widow, you know ! Our evil genius! It's a judg- 
ment on me for giving up the search for the lost Span- 
ker. I must be off. Good-bye ; put it there {they shake 
hands). If I'm asked for, you know — mysteriously 
disappeared — {goes up to door a). 

Mrs. C. {outside c.) Charley! Charley! 

Bobstay {comes down r.). There's a craft bearing 
down this way ; mum 's the word, Charley. 

\_Exit door r. 
{Enter Persis from room l.) 

Persis. Shall we never be alone ? 

Charles, Hush ! go back ; my wife is here ! 

Persis. Your wife ? Rosa Bean ? I'll scratch her 
eyes out ! 

Charles {pushing her into room). No, no; you'll 
spoil all. They meet! — 'twould never do {locks door 
and takes out key. Mrs. C. appears at door c.) 

Mrs. C. Why, Charles, what are you doing ? Lock- 
ing my door ? 

Charles {confused). Yes — no — that is, I was 
afraid the cat would get in there, and so I locked it. 

3I?'s. C. I want to put my things away. 

Charles. I wouldn't take them off now, it's a little 
chilly here. 



90 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Mrs. C. Chilly ! Why, Charles, are you ill ? How 
pale you look ! If it were anybody else, I should say a 
guilty look was on your face. 

Charles {aside). A guilty look! and she in clandes- 
tine correspondence with Dolby! {Aloud) Guilty? 
absurd ! {Aside) What have I done ? Locked a wo- 
man in her room, — and I suspect her? O, here's a 
muddle ! 

Mrs. C. Well, as you do not seem inclined to let 
me into my room, I will lay off my things in Nelly's 
{goes to door r.). Why, this is locked too ! 

Charles. O, yes, yes ; I forgot to tell you. I — I 
locked up the dog in there. 

Mrs. C. The dog Towzer ! What for ? 

Charles. Well, I was just going to sit down to read, 
and I didn't want to be disturbed. 

Dog outside. " Bow, wow, wow ! " 

Mrs. C. Ah, Towzer seems to have found the way 
out. 

Charles. I wish I could. {Dog harks.) 

Dolby {outside). Help! murder! help! {Comes 
tumbling in through the window on to lounge / rolls on 
to floor.) Confound that dog ! {gets up rubbing his 
knees.) 

Charles. What luck, Dolby. Did you get a bite ? 

Dolby. Yes ; two of them ; and if my legs hadn't 
done good service, that confounded dog would have 
made a meal of me {still rubbing his knees, not look- 
ing up. Mrs. Cleverly, down r.). 

Charles. Sorry, Dolby, you didn't have better luck. 
{Aside) Now to test my wife {steps a). Allow me to 



A MYSTERIOUS DIS APPEAR ANCE. 91 

present you to my wife. Mrs. Cleverly, my friend 
Dixon Dolby. Dixie, this is the lady you have 
longed to meet. 

Dolby (comes down l. ; looks across). Rosa Bean ! 
Good gracious ! 

Charles. No, no. My poor friend, you are growing 
crazy with your absurd phantom, Rosa Bean. 

.Dolby. Good gracious, it's her! And I — I — un- 
happy wretch ! — am in love with Charley's wife f 
What will become of me ? I shall be found out (wipes 
face with handkerchief). 

Mrs. C. I hope you are enjoying your day's sport, 
Mr. Dolby. 

Dolby. O, immensely ! You see we took the dog 
along for a photograph — no, for company. Don Car- 
los said we'd better ; and he got interested in my ar- 
rangements ; and just as I stooped over to put on a 
bait, somebody said, "St' boy! "and I suppose he mis- 
took me for the boy, — at any rate, took a bite. Then 
it suddenly occurred to me that there was " no place 
like home." 

(Miter Carlos, c.) 

Carlos. Say, Mister, what did you want to scoot 
for jist as it was gettin' interesting ? 

Dolby. Interesting, Don Carlos ? It was getting 
exciting ! (Aside) Heavens ! how shall I get out of 
this scrape ? — Charley's wife ! — He'll murder me ! 
(Aloud) Charley, I really believe I'll take the next 
train. 

Charles. Nonsense. You've not tried the gunning 
yet. Finish your day's sport. 



92 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

Dolby {aside). I wish I could, at once. 

Charles. Careless will take you to the game. 

Dolby (takes gun). All right. Don Carlos, we'll try 
the game ; {aside) and I'm off to the train. No more 
of this sport for me, thank you. 

Carlos. Say, what do you want to shoot ? 

Dolby. How 's the deer ? 

Carlos. Deer? Ho, ho, ho ! They're purty well ; 
but we're out on 'em jist now. 

Dolby. Well, a buffalo or two. 

Carlos. Ho, ho, ho ! 

Dolby. Hang it ! don't stand there grinning ; let's 
shoot something quick. \_Exit c. and oj]f~L. 

Carlos {aside). Darned if I don't take him down 
into Buffalo Bill's paster. He'll shoot the fence quicker 
than scat. {Exit c. 

Mrs. C. Now that the dog is out of the way, I 
suppose you can have no objection to — 

Charles. By the way, Jenny, I'd nearly forgotten 
it ; but Mrs. Jenks, our neighbor, was here just now, and 
her baby 's taken sick — awful ; wants you. It's got a 
sudden attack of squills, I think she said. 

Mrs. C. Indeed ! I'll run over at once ; that is, if 
you can spare me. 

Charles. O, certainly — that is, no — yes. They're 
not catching, are they? 

Mrs. C I think not. Good-bye {goes up a). 
{Aside) There's something wrong with Charley. I'll 
not go far. \_HJxit c. 

Charles. Now to get that confounded Bobstay out 
of the way {goes towards door e.). 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

(Enter Nelly, r. 1 e.) 

Nelly. Charley, what do you want in my room ? 

Charles. O, nothing — that is — I was looking for 
you. 

Nelly. And having found me — 

Charles. I want you to advise me. Read that. ( Gives 
note.) 

Nelly {aside). Nobody can do it better than I 
{reads). Well, Charley ? 

Charles. Well, Charley. No, ill Charley ; a de- 
cidedly badly-used Charley. Do you know that photo- 
graph ? 

Nelly. It's our Jenny. 

Charles. Our Jenny ! And it's sent to my friend 
Dolby. I'll murder him ! 

Nelly. Now, Charley, don't be jealous. I've no 
doubt Jenny will explain matters to your entire satis- 
faction. (Persis knocks at door l.) Ah, who's that? 

Charles (moving to door l.). It's the cat. Scat, 
pussy, pussy, pussy ! 

Nelly, r. (changes photograph in note for another). 
I'll see if we cannot put a new face upon the matter. 
(Aloud) Here's your note, Charley. Don't be jealous ; 
it doesn't look well in a man at all. \_Exit r. 

Charles. Now to let the captain out., (Goes to door 
r. ; raps). I say, captain — coast clear ! 
(Enter Sobstat, with a calico shirt pinned about his 

waist, a red shawl over his shoulders, and a straw 

bonnet on his head) 
Gracious ! what's the meaning of that rig ? 

Bobstay. Disguise; run the gantlet; slip my cable. 



94 A MYSTEBIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

See, I'm here — I'm gone. If anybody asks for Bobstay, 

you know — mysteriously disappeared. [ Goes to door c. 

{Miter Mrs. Cleverly, c.) 

Mrs. C. One moment, if you please. 

Bobstay (aside). Shiver my timbers, it's Jenny! 

Charles. She 's found him out ! 

Mrs. C. (leading Bobstay down r. by arm). I have 
no objections to my husband's entertaining ladies in 
my absence ; but I have decided objections to their 
leaving my house with property not their own. I'll 
thank you for that shawl. 

Bobstay. Ay, ay. (Takes off shawl.) 

Mrs. C. And that bonnet. 

Bobstay (takes off bonnet). Ay, ay. 

Mrs. C. Captain Bobstay ! Uncle Boliver ! 
(Enter Miss Persis, door l.) 

Per sis. Captain Bobstay ! My husband ! (Shrieks, 
and falls into Charles's arms.) 

Bobstay. 'Tis she ; support me, Jenny (falls into 
Mrs. C.'s arms). 

(Report of gun outside c.) 

Dolby. Help ! murder ! help ! (Buns in through 
door c, turns and shuts door ; puts his back against 
it.) Hallo ! what's the matter here ? 

Mrs. C. So, sir, you have deceived me. And this 
lady is — 

Charles. . Yoi\r aunt, Mrs. Captain Bobstay. 

Bobstay. 'Tis false ! 

Persis. Boliver ! my own — (approaching him.) 

Bobstay. No, nothing of the kind, madam. You 
married me and I married you under a mistake. When 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 95 

you can bring me convincing proof of the death of 
your husband Spanker, — a leg or an arm of the afore- 
said will be sufficient proof, — I am ready to talk busi- 
ness. Till then, madam, I am free. 

JPersis. Boliver — 

Bobstay. O, I shall boil over if you are not silent 
(sits at table r., takes up paper; reads. Miss Peusis 
moves about him, trying to get sight of his face / he 
keeps the paper before him). 

Charles. Now, Mrs. Cleverly, having cleared my- 
self to your satisfaction, I hope — (sees Dolby) Hallo ! 
Dolby, what are you doing there ? 

Dolby. Fact is, Charley, I've shot something! 
(Carlos sticks his head into window.) 

Carlos. Yes, darn you, you shot a calf! But Buf- 
falo Bill, our black bull, tossed you over the fence in 
no time. Ho, ho, ho ! You're a sportsman, you are ! 

\_JExit c. 

Dolby. Charley, I guess I'll go home. I've lost my 
net, my rod, and my gun ; and if your game are as 
active as your friend Buffalo William, I'd rather not 
be hunting, thank you. 

Charles. Do you recognize that note, Dolby? 
{Gives note.) 

Dolby. O, Lord, it's ! coming ! Here's a pretty day's 
sport ! That note ? O, yes. That note is — 

Charles. From my wife, I believe. 

Dolby. O, heavens, it's all over! Charley, 'pon 
my word, I hadn't the least idea that Rosa Bean was 
your wife. If I had — 

CJiarles. Silence ! (Snatches note from Dolby, 



96 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 

and runs to c.) And you, madam, what have you 
to say to it? {Gives note to Mrs. C.) 

{Enter Nelly, c.) 

Mrs. C. (looking at it.) Say ! What can I say ? 
This in no way concerns me. 

Charles. Indeed ! And the picture ? 

Mrs. C. O, the picture. {Looks at it.) Why, it's 
our Nelly. 

Charles and Dolby. Our Nelly ! 

Nelly. Yes, our Nelly — who is answerable for all 
this mischief. She is the writer of the note — the un- 
known correspondent of our friend Mr. Dixon Dolby, 
Rosa Bean. 

Dolby. Well, that's clever (runs up to her, c). 
How do you do (shakes hands). ( They go to lounge 
and sit talking.) 

Mrs C. And you suspected me, Charley ! 

Charles. What could I do ? Your aunt Bobstay 
brought me your picture, which somehow has mysteri- 
ously disappeared. 

Bobstay (jumping up). " Mysteriously disappeared." 
Hark ! listen ! (reads.) " All friends of the supposed- 
to-be-drowned Sylvester Spanker, especially his widow, 
are hereby notified that he has returned to his ship, the 
Venetian Red, and will sail this day for Valparaiso." 
Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! He 's found, and I am free ! Widow, 
I congratulate you. 

JPersis. Spanker alive ! Thank fortune, I am no 
longer dependent on the cold charities of the world ! 

Bobstay. Madam, put it there (they shake hands). 
We'll go aboard the Venetian Red this very day. I'll 



A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 97 

return property, and take my receipt, tear up our cer- 
tificate, give you my blessing, and mysteriously disap- 
pear. 

Dolby {comes down loith Nelly). But what's to 
become of me ? Will you desert the life you saved ? 
Persis — 

Persis. Bother ! You'd better be silent. I was in 
that room when you told the story with such compli- 
mentary allusions to me. 

Dolby. Ahem ! Mum's the word. 

Charles. Come, Nelly, let's have dinner. {Exit 
Nelly l.) This little muddle is happily ended. 

Dolby. I've had my day's sport ; not just what I 
expected, but it's ending happily. 

Charles. The widow has found her husband. 

Bobstay. For which we return thanks. 

(Carlos sticks his head in window) 

Carlos. Say, you'll never see that calf again ; she's 
gin her last blat. 

{Enter Nelly, r.) 

Nelly. Dinner 's ready. 

Charles {gives his wife his arm, a). Come, let's to 
dinner. (Dolby and Nelly arm in arm, r. ; Captain 
and Miss Persis arm in arm, l.) Are you ready, 
captain ? 

Bobstay. Ay, ay, Charley, with a rousing appetite. 
So heave ahead ; we'll follow in your wake. I'm hap- 
py. You are happy, widow. Yes, we're all happy — 
for we've had a day's sport, and all our troubles have 
— mysteriously disappeared. 

[Curtain."] 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS 



A DRAMA m TWO ACTS. 



CHARACTERS. 



Philip Ringold, " Crazy Phil," a Mountain Hermit. 

Alfred Thorpe, a City Nabob. 

Amos Gaylord, a Country Gentleman. 

Howard Gaylord, his Son. 

Titus Turtle, a Gourmand. 

Curtis Chipman, " Chips" in the Rough. 

Nat Naylor, Thorpe's Protege. 

Grace Ingalls, a Young Artist. 

Hester Thorne, Gaylord's Housekeeper. 

Susy Gaylord, Gaylord's Daughter. 

Lucretia Gerrish, " so romantic." 



COSTUMES. 



Ringold. Age 40. Pull black beard ; thick, curly wig ; slouch 
hat ; long boots ; light coat, buttoned at the waist ; blue 
shirt, with black handkerchief knotted at the neck ; collar 
of shirt rolled over coat. 

Alfred Thorpe. Age 50. White, curly hair; white side- 
whiskers ; fashionable dress ; kids, and dress hat. 

99 

LofC 



100 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos Gayeord. Age 60. "White wig ; smooth face ; nankeen 

vest and pants ; blue coat with brass buttons ; white tie. 
Howard Gaylord, Age 24. First Dress : Dark cutaway coat ; 

neat red shirt, with black neckerchief loosely tied; dark 

pants, with leather leggings ; wide-awake hat. — Second 

Dress : Neat and tasty suit. 
Turtle. Age 40. Made up "fat"; fashionable fancy suit; 

red, curly hair; side- whiskers, and plump, red face. 
Curtis. Age 20. Rough suit; pants, coat, and vest; light hat; 

light hair. 
Nat. Age 20. First Dress : A light suit ; green necktie ; green 

gloves ; straw hat, with a green ribbon. — Second Dress : 

Fashionable evening dress ; white tie ; dress coat ; hair 

light, long, parted in the middle. 
Grace. Age 18. First Dress : Pretty-figured muslin, or blue 

or brown cambric, fashionably cut. — Second Dress : White 

muslin. 
Hester Thorne. Age 40. Brown or gray dress, with collar 

and cliffs ; fine, white wig. Face made up young and rosy. 
Susy. Age 17. First Dress : Figured muslin, with white apron ; 

long ear-rings. Second Dress : Neat evening-dress. 
Lucretia. Age 30. First Dress : Travelling-dress, as showy 

as possible ; face made up wrinkled ; very red cheeks ; a 

profusion of red curls, and a black patch on left cheek. 

Second Dress : Light fabric, with ribbons and bows of 

scarlet. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

r., right; c, centre; l., left; l. c, left centre ; r. c, right 
centre; l. 1 e., left first entrance; r. 1 e., right first entrance; 
flat, scene at back of stage ; r. u. e., right upper entrance. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



Act I. — Scene : Room in Gaylord's house. In flat c, 
open doorway, backed by lattice-work, with vine run- 
ning up it. l. of door, a long window ^ showing a rail- 
ing backing it, and beyond that, shrubbery / the pas- 
sage-way off is through door, then past window, and 
offi,. Long curtains at window ; a vase of flowers 
standing on the stage at back of open door ; flat plain 
from door to r. with a picture hanging on it; long 
window k. next fiat, with long curtain / lounge at 
window r., back to flat ; small table at window l. c, 
with flowers and books upon it / chair front of it. 
Door l. half-way up stage / arm-chair l. Entrance 
r. Easel, with picture on it, back to audience, near 
window r. Grace seated painting . Howard stand- 
ing c. leaning on a gun, hat in hand, watching her. 

Grace. And you really like my picture, Mr. Gay- 
lord ? 

Howard. Like it, Miss Grace ? It's a bit of Nature 
. filched from our grand old mountain so cleverly, that I 
wonder it does not give one of its thunder-growls in 
protest of the robbery. 

Grace. It will be growled at by those monsters the 
art-critics. They will not spare a single tree, or a 

101 



102 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

stone, in my Mountain-Picture. Ah, if they were only 
as kindly-disposed as you are, I should not fear. 

Howard. Don't place me among them, Miss Grace. 
I'm but a rough-handed farmer, who would be laughed 
at in such company. 

Grace. Yet you are an artist. 

Howard. At ploughing — yes. 

Grace. You may laugh ; but you are a true artist. 
Yon wooded valley, stretching to the distant river; 
yon towering mountain, lifting its head above the 
clouds, thrill me with delight, as a holiday sight glad- 
dens the heart of the child. But to you they are daily 
life. As the order, peace, and love of a household fill 
the heart of the child with all good impulses, so the 
clear mountain air you breathe, the majesty of Nature 
in its grand sublimity, train the eye to beauty, the soul 
to harmony, the heart to inspiration, — all unconscious 
influences which make you a critic whose praise is 
worth the winning. 

Howard. You are enthusiastic. 

Grace. Thank you. I am winning favor ; for with- 
out enthusiasm how could we poor artists live? 

Howard. Then you like our rough life here, far 
above the busy, bustling world ? 

Grace. Like it ? To be free from the thraldom of 
city life, its crowded, bustling streets, its mockery of 
comfort, its greed and. avarice, crime and folly, is to 
me as welcome, as joyous, as must be the sunlight to 
the prisoner for years confined in gloomy dungeons. 

Howard. And you could forsake all that — could be 
happy here ? 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 103 

Grace. Forever. 

Howard. O Grace, — Miss Ingalls, — you know not 
what pleasure that confession gives me. If I might 
hope — 

{Enter Susy, door l., with a pan of apples and a 

knife.) 

Susy. O, I beg your pardon. Do I intrude ? 

Grace. No, indeed, Susy. I was just giving a few 
finishing touches to my picture, and Howard — Mr. 
Gaylord — was admiring the color of my sky. 

Howard. Yes, Susy, that's all. 

Susy. O ! {Aside) Admiring the color ! They've 
both got an extra quantity of red in their faces. {Sits 
in arm-chair.) The reflection of the picture, I sup- 
pose. {Pares apples.) 

Grace. Are those hanging-clouds light enough ? 

Howard. Exactly the tints displayed at sunset. 
But to my mind, that quaint scene above the clouds is 
the beauty of the picture. Bingold's Nest, we call it 
— Crazy Phil's rocky hut. 

Grace. The Hermit of the Mountain. I long to 
catch a glimpse of this mysterious hero of the Peak. 

Howard. I am expecting him here every moment ; 
but you must look at him outside, for he never enters 
a house. I go gunning with him to-day. 

Grace. Gunning with a crazy man ? 

Howard. Phil is not crazy. His eccentricities have 
gained him that title here. Ten years ago he passed 
through here to the Peak, and took possession of the 
rude hut upon its summit. A wan, ragged, and hag- 
gard man. Occasionally he comes into our streets, but 



104 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

shuns our abodes. His mountain life has made a new 
man of him ; improved his health and spirits ; and I 
want no better companion on a tramf), no wiser friend 
in council, than Phil Kingold. 

Grace. And his past history ? 

Howard. Is a sealed book. Occasionally, in fits of 
abstraction, he mutters hoarsely of a faithless wife, a 
lost child, a false friend ; but when I question him, he 
is silent. 

Grace. Brave fellow ! Foiled in his battle with the 
world, he turns his back upon it, and in Nature's sol- 
itudes fashions a new life and battles with himself. 

Howard. One would imagine, from your poor 
opinion of the world you have left, that even you — 
young, talented, and — well, it is the truth — beautiful, 
had met with disappointment. 

Grace. No; I have nothing to complain of, except 
the fact that I am nobody is a disappointment. 

Howard. Nobody! You — you have genius. 

Grace. Perhaps. That remains to be seen. I know 
I have courage to persevere, will to conquer; but, 
should I triumph, none to rejoice at my success. 

Howard. I do not understand you. 

Grace. Because you do not know me. I do not 
know myself. I am a waif, the property of nobody 
who will claim me. Originally, one of those mysteri- 
ous little mortals that are dropped by the way, as we 
sometimes dispose of a troublesome kitten. 

Howard. And your parents ? * 

Grace. I have not the honor of their acquaintance ; 
nothing but the recollection of a loving face bending 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



105 



over me; a silken beard I loved to stroke, long, long 
years ago ; and then a change to rough hands, but 
kind hearts ; and then all is blotted, till my life began 
with Mr. Thorpe. 

Howard. Surely that was a pleasant change. 

Grace. He says he was a friend of my parents ; 
that both are dead — and nothing more. Where they 
lived, or where they lie, in vain I ask. He has ever 
been a kind friend to me ; allowed me to choose my 
artist life ; spared no expense ; encouraged me in every 
way; and yet, and yet — I hate him ! 

Howard. Hate him? 

Grace. What right has he to stand between me 
and those who gave me life ? 

Howard. But if they are dead ? 

Grace (rising). Their memories should live in the 
heart of their child ; not be stolen from her ; hidden 
away in the grave with them, as though they were 
guilty things, too base to be remembered. ~No, no ; 
there is some mystery here. Would I could solve it 
(raises hand towards window r. and looks off). O, 
solitary dweller on the Mountain Peak, I can clasp 
hands with thee. Thou stand est alone in Nature's 
loneliest haunts; amid the crowded ways of life, like 
thee, I am alone — alone. ( With an effort.) Pardon 
me ; this is one of my changeful moods. I shall soon 
be better. \_JExit r. 1 e. 

Howard. A strange mood. So young ; so beautiful. 
She fascinates me ! Am I wise to linger in her pres- 
ence ? To listen to her beguiling voice ? To look into 
her eyes ? She, a genius, and an angel ! Dare I utter 
the words that spring to my lips — 



106 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Ahem ! 

Howard. Susy, I had forgotten yon. What are yon 
doing, puss ? 

Susy. O, I've been keeping Miss Grace and yon 
company. 

Howard. In what way ? 

Susy. Paring ! O, Howard Gaylord, yon've just 
come, and been and gone and done it. 

Howard. What, puss ? 

Susy. Fallen in love with Miss Grace Ingalls. 
. Howard. Nonsense, puss. 

Susy. Well, I think there is a great deal of non- 
sense about it. But ain't it nice to feel your heart 
going pitity-pat, pitity-pat, every time she looks at you, 
and to feel that delicious lump in your throat, like as 
though you were going to strangle with delight and 
was afraid you shouldn't ! 

Howard. Well, you certainly understand the symp- 
toms, Susy. 

Susy. Indeed I do. I haven't lived seventeen 
years for nothing. But all that's nothing to what will 
come over you the first time you clasp her taper fin- 
gers. You'll feel just as though you were being lifted 
upon a bridge of rainbows. You'll be dizzy at first, 
but it soon wears off. 

Howard. Ha, ha! you're well posted, puss. Was 
Curtis Chipman your instructor? 

Susy. Chips? Not much; he hasn't the courage 
to look me in the eye. 

Howard. And of course cannot feel the " pitity-pat " 
sensation. Curt is a good fellow, Susy ; mind yon don't 
frighten him. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 107 

Susy. I frighten him! He don't need any help, he 
frightens himself. 

Howard. And you think I love Miss Grace ? 

Susy. You prove it, in being so anxious to return 
to the subject. 

Howard. What if I do, Susy. Do you think she 
would condescend to look with favor upon such a rough 
specimen as I ? 

Susy. Condescend ? My goodness ! Condescend 
to you, my brother ? The idea ! Why, Howard Gay- 
lord, I'm ashamed of you ! You're none too good for 
the best woman that ever trod the earth. 

Howard. Ha, ha, ha ! Right, Susy : I'm none " too 
good." 

Susy. Now laugh because I made a slip. You know 
what I mean ; and if you don't boldly woo and win 
Grace Ingalls, I'll disinherit you. 

Howard. Hush ! she 's here. 

Susy. I thought she couldn't keep away from you 
long. 

(Enter Grace, e.) 

Grace. There, the storm is over {goes to her easel). 

Susy {aside). Now's the time for rainbows! Why 
don't he squeeze her hand? 

Howard. Shall I disturb you if I look at your work? 

Grace. O, no; I'm quite myself again. 

Susy {aside). Look at her work, indeed ! He can't 
keep his eyes off of. her. ( Whistle outside, l. Susy 
gradually falls asleep?) 

Howard. Ah, that's Phil Ringold. I must be off. 

Grace. O, do bring him in. 



108 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Howard. I cannot; it would be useless to make 
the attempt. 

Grace {rising). Then I'll have one good look at 
him (rises and goes up into doorway ; looks off l.). 
Yes, what a fine figure. Mr. Gaylord, your friend is 
splendid. Ah, he sees me (bows and smiles). He 
starts. He comes this way like a madman (rims down 
to easel/ turns and stands with hand on easel, bending 
forioard, looking at door. Howaed, l.) 

Phil (outside, l.). Hester ! Hester ! (Passes window 
and appears in doorway, gun throvm across his arm, / 
stops and glares at Geace.) Hester ! No, no ; 'tis 
her face; but. she — so like ! so like ! Where got you 
that face ? It belonged to one I knew long years ago. 
So beautiful —but false. As young and fair, but heart- 
less and cruel. She made my home a ruin and my life 
a curse. 

Howard. Phil, old fellow, be calm. This is our 
guest, Miss Grace Ingalls — an artist. Look at her work 
there on the easel. Do you recognize it ? (Geace 
steps back towards icindow, e. Phil comes forward, 
his eyes fastened upon her face until he nears the 
easel. He sighs / lets his eyes rove round until they 
reach the picture / starts.) 

-Phil (with a smile). Ah, the old nest. See, see, 
Howard ! It's wondrous like — wondrous like ! ( Turns 
to Geace with a bow.) I congratulate you, young lady, 
on your success. It is a charming picture. 

Grace. Thank you. 

Phil (starts). O, that voice! — it brings back the 
old days — the mother with the child in her lap ; and 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



109 



the music of her lullaby thrills me again and again. 
No, no ; let me shut it out — shut it out ; it softens 
my heart, — and that should be steel, adamant, to bar 
out forever the traitoress, the false one. Come, How- 
ard, the day is speeding, and we've a long tramp. Come, 
come (goes up). 

Grace. Stay one moment. (Phil turns.) We meet 
as strangers to-day; but, believe me, I sympathize with 
your sorrows and your wrongs. Can we not be friends ? 
( Offers her ha?id.) 

Phil (takes it and looks in her face). My sorrows 
and my wrongs, child, they are forgotten. I trod 
the haunts of men, mingled with the bustling and the 
busy; loved, lost ; and then, there (pointing off through 
window, r.) on yonder mountain peak, perched myself 
above the clouds, that, floating at my feet, shut out all 
tokens of the sin and wrong below. Ah, little one, 
pretty one, this is a world of trouble. We joy and 
we sorrow, gain and lose ; but there — there on His 
eternal mountains that pierce the sky, all is forgotten, 
for we are alone, — with Nature here, and Heaven 
there. 

Grace. May Heaven recompense you for all you 
have suffered. 

Phil. It will ; it does. My wrongs were like those 
of other men. I loved, and was deceived. I married, 
and found my wife's smiles were bestowed upon an- 
other. I was a - fool to trust a woman, and so pay pen- 
ance by forgetting the whole world. 

Howard. Except — 

Phil (giving Howard his hand). Except Howard, 



110 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

for we are friends, and he is of ray own mind. He'll 
never trust a woman. (Howard withdraws his hand? 
looks at Grace, and turns away. Grace blushes and 
looks down.) Ho, ho ! I've said too much. Never 
mind ; it's only Crazy Phil. Come, Howard, we must 
be off, for game 's afoot, and Crazy Phil is a wondrous 
good shot. Ha, ha, ha ! {At door, turns and bows to 
Grace.) Good-bye. So like — so like — it almost 
drives me mad. \JExit c. off l. 

Howard. You see, Miss Grace, Phil is an odd char- 
acter. 

Grace. Very. 

Hoicard. You mustn't mind all he says ; for in- 
stance, that remark about me that I would never trust 
a woman ; for there is one woman I could trust with 
my life, my soul. 

Grace. I hope there are many such. 

Howard. Yes — O, yes. But this one — 

Grace. Your friend is waiting, I see. 

Howard. I'm off. {Aside) She's not for me — not 
for me. I was a fool to think it. [JBows. and exit c. 

Grace. I'm on dangerous ground here. This rough 
but honest-hearted fellow is stirring my heart strangely. 
Is fate or fortune about to send some one to prove 
false my statement that there's no one to rejoice at my 
success ? If so, I hope he'll be the man. \Exit R. 1 e. 

{Enter Chips from l. He comes on with his hat twirl- 
ing in his hand / comes to door slowly and stands 
looking down bashfully, rubbing against door-post.) 

Chips. I was just going by. {Pause). I said I was 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Ill 

just going by {looks up). Hullo! Nobody here?. 
That's queer, I vum ! ( Comes down.) I've made up 
my mind that Susy Gay lord is the prettiest, smartest, 
and likeliest gal in these parts, and I've just got spunk 
enough to tell her so. (Sees Susy.) Jewhittiker ! there 
she is ! (Backs across stage to k., looking down and 
twirling his hat.) How d'e do? I was just going by. 
(Pause, looks up.) Why, she's asleep ! ( Comes to c. and 
looks at her.) Now, ain't she a beauty ! just clear pink 
and white. Look at them lips! there's honey for the 
taking! Curtis, now's your chance (wipes his mouth 
with coat-sleeve) . She's asleep, and nobody 's looking 
(creeps towards her). 

(Enter Nat Naylor, l.; looks through window.) 

I'm trembling all over; but, darn it, here goes! (Stoops 
to kiss her. Nat comes to door.) 

Nat. Brace up ! (Chips runs across stage to e. 
Susy wakes. Nat comes dow?i.) Here 's robbery ! 
Grand larceny ! 

Bumpkin, forbear, touch not those tempting lips, 
Base is the man who thus felonious sips. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! ( To Susy) Excuse me, I am the 
avant courier of Mr. Alfred Thorpe, Mr. Titus Turtle, 
" and last but not least is our dear love," Miss Lucretia 
Gerrish, — three mountain travellers who are on their 
way to spend a few days in this delightful mansion of 
Mr. Amos Gaylord. 

A stately pile, the country's pride and boast, 
Amid the mountain, with A Gaylord host. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! (Struts up stage.) 



112 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Well, I never ! 

Chips. Wall, he 's gone crazy, and got it bad. 

Susy. Chips, what are you doing here ? 

Nat {comes down). Chips, is it? O, Chips, I blush 
for you. Young lady, look upon me as your preserver. 
I caught this modest rustic in the very act of snatch- 
ing a kiss from those ruby lips, — 

Where Cupid sits enthroned with arching bow, 
Before the ivoried walls that gleam below. 

Impromptu. Ahem! 

Susy. Chips, is it possible ? Did you dare ? 

Chips. Well, you see, Susy, I was going by, and — 
and — I thought I'd just drop in to tell you that — 
that — mother's making pickles to-day. 

Nat. O, Chips! Chips! 

While making pickles, mother dear, 
I find a sweeter pickle here. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Chips. Look here, Mr. What's-your-name, you're a 
darned sight too free with your Mother Goose Melo- 
dies. Ef you get my dander up, you'll think a horse 
kicked you, — now I tell you. 

Susy. Chips, don't be rude. 

Chips. Well, I ain't a-goin' to be sassed by a feller 
that can't talk English. 

Nat. Chips, you want polish. 

Chips. Well, p'raps you 'd like to polish me. Ef 
you would, I'm your man. Come down behind the 
barn — 

Susy. Chips, I'm ashamed of you ! 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 113 

Nat. So am I, Chips. 

The blush of shame is mounting to my cheek, 
It glows — 

It glows — There, I've lost it! You must know, I'm 
a protege of Mr. Thorpe's, destined to become a poet. 
Yes, he's fond of helping aspiring genius up the dizzy- 
heights — and I'm to be a poet. So, as practice makes 
perfect, I indulge in nights of fancy on all occasions. 
So if you happen to hear from my lips eccentric bits, 
don't mind them. It's nothing — mere practice. 

Susy. O, you're a poet ! Well, I declare ! 

Nat, Yes — Nat Naylor. Sometimes called Natty, 
because my verses are neat and natty. See ? 

Susy. I am glad to welcome you to my father's 
house. 

JVat. Then I am in the presence of Miss Susy Gay- 
lord. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Allow 
me — {lifts her hand to his lips). 

Here on this hand I pay the homage due 
To lovely woman — 

(About to kiss again.) 

Susy (withdrawing her hand). Thank you ; that 
will do. 

Nat. Impromptu. Ahem! I must return to my 
friends. You may expect us in half an hour. Adieu 
(goes to door and turns). We part to meet again. — 
Sweet one, farewell. Chips, au revoir. [Exit c. 

Chips. Get out, you tarnal swell ! Darn his pic- 
ture, I'll have one shot at him. (Runs up to Susy, takes 
three or four apples, and runs up to c) 
8 



114 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. Chips, what are you doing with my apples ? 

Chips (throicing apples off l. swiftly). There, im- 
promptu ! Darn you ! I wish they were Centennial 
eggs ! ( Comes down c.) 

Busy. Curtis Chipman ! 

Chips. That's my name, and I ain't ashamed of it. 

Susy. I'm ashamed of you ! Such treatment of a 
gentleman and a poet ! 

Chips. O, bother! What's a poet, anyhow? He 
can't tell a Shanghai from a Bantam, a pitchfork from 
a rake. What right has he to kiss your hand ? You 
never saw me trying it ? 

Susy. ISTo ; but he saw you attempting something 
worse, Chips. 

Chips. Don't care. I was just going by — 

Susy. Pshaw ! you 're always going by. Why 
don't you come straight to the house, and not make an 
excuse, when you know you are dying to see me. O, 
Chips, you're a good fellow, but you want a little pol- 
ish. Look at Mr. Naylor. 

Chips. Hang Mr. Nay lor ! I hate him. „ 

Susy. And I like him. He's so gentle, so well- 
bred ; such a flow of language. I'm sure we shall be- 
come good friends. 

Chips {throws his hat on stage). Susy Gaylord, 
I'm mad; and I'm going to tell you just what I think 
of you. 

Susy. That's right, Chips ; frankness is a virtue. 

Chips. You're a — a — confound it, Susy, you're 
an angel ; and I love you better than father or mother, 
sister or brother — 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 115 

Susy. Uncles and aunts, first and second ccusins. 
Put in all the relatives, Chips. 

Chips. I know I ain't handsome. 

Susy. So do I, Chips. 

Chips. I haven't what you call "polish." 

Susy. Not a bit, Chips. 

Chips. But I've got a heart crammed full of love 

for you. Will you marry me ? 

Susy. I cannot, Chips ; because — because — 

Chips. Because what? 

Susy. I'm an angel ; and angels don't marry. 

Chips. Don't torture me, Susy. 

Susy. No, Chips — I should if I married you. So 
I'll be merciful and spare you. 

An angel of mercy, hovering nigh, 

To watch your footsteps when you're going by. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Chips. Hang it ! don't you go to making melodies 
and jingles — Naylor's lingo. All fools make rhymes ; 
they do, by jingo ! 

Susy. Impromptu. Ahem ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Chips. You won't have me ? 

Susy. Haven't got time. Strangers are coming 
here, you know, and I must be bustling. All of them 
coming, including that delightful Mr. Naylor. 

Chips. Darn him! You'll be sorry for this, Susy 
Gaylord. As for that poet fellow, if I don't smash his 
rhyming-machine, then my name 's not Curtis Chipman 
(goes off c). 

Stisy. Good-bye, Chips; call again when you're 



116 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

going by. Ha, ha, ha ! I've found a new way to make 
a bashful lover speak. Get him mad, and then he dis- 
closes his passion. Ha, ha, ha! (Goes up and puts pan 
of apples on table.) 

(Enter Amos Gaylord, c.) 

Amos. Susy, has Mrs. Thorne returned? 

Susy. No, father ; she spent the night at Mrs. 
Green's, with her sick boy. 

Amos. Bless her ! that woman's a sister of charity, 
Susy ; a friend in trouble ; the poor pray for her, and 
the sick forget their pain when she is near. 

Susy. All, father, you've a tender regard for our 
new housekeeper. 

Amos. To be sure I have, Susy. Isn't she a treas- 
ure here ? How carefully she looks after my comfort ; 
so quiet, yet so active at her household duties ; so un- 
obtrusive ; so motherly to you. Ah, it was a happy 
day when she came to our home ! 

Susy. Father, you surprise me ! 

Amos. I have a still greater surprise in store for 
you, Susy. I am going to ask Mrs. Thorne to marry 
me. 

Susy. Marry you ! 

Amos. Yes ; she has become so necessary here that 
I fear to lose her. She has evidently seen trouble, 
poverty. Why should not I try to make her forget all 
she has suffered by making her the honored head of 
this my home ? 

Susy. Father, no one would more gladly welcome 
her to that position than I. I truly, sincerely hope 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 117 

you may be successful ; but I fear you will be disap- 
pointed. 

Amos, Don't dash my hopes, Susy ! I'm not a very 
old man. I have wealth. 

Susy. Any woman might be proud of your pro- 
posal, father ; but she has that in her face which tells 
me she has suffered deeply. 

Hester {outside a). I will have it attended to at 
once. 

Amos. Hush ! she is here. 

{Enter Hester Thorne from l., passing window 
to c. door. She has a light shawl on her shoulders, 
a rigolette on her head.) 

Hester. Good morning, Mr. Gaylord. Susy, have 
you missed me ? 

Susy. We always miss you, Mrs. Thorne. ( Takes her 
shawl and rigolette.) How is the boy ? 

Hester. Poor little fellow ! — at rest ; he died this 
morning. Brave to the last, he suffered uncomplain- 
ingly, and passed away with a smile upon his lips. 

Amos. . You have had a weary night. You must 
take rest. {Exit Susy, door l.) 

Hester. No ; my brisk walk this morning has re- 
freshed me. 

Amos. I do not like to have you waste your 
strength in such constant watching. 

Hester. I think one gains strength in seeking to 
alleviate distress. 

Amos. Yes; but — 

Hester. You think it unfits me for my duties as 
your housekeeper. 



118 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos. Mrs. Thome ! 

Hester. Pardon me ; that was an unkind speech to 
so generous a man as you. 

Amos. I think only of your own health, Mrs. Thorne. 
I am anxious on your account solely. For a year you 
have been my housekeeper, and I need not tell you 
how highly you are respected here. 

Hester. I am glad to know you like me. 

Amos. So well, Mrs. Thorne, that I am anxious to 
secure you for life. 

Hester {surprised). Mr. Gaylord ! 

Amos. Hester Thorne, I am too old a man to prate 
of love with a young man's passionate warmth. I have 
the most exalted opinion of your disposition, your 
talents, and your honor. Will you become my wife ? 

Hester. Mr. Gaylord, you know not what you ask. 
Impossible ! 

Amos. Impossible ! Mrs. Thorne, I am a man of 
few words ; but I am honest, earnest in my offer. Give 
your consent, and you are mistress here. 

Hester. Stop — stop — give me time — 

Amos. To consider my proposal ? 

Hester. No, no ; not that. It must not, cannot be. 
O, you have taken me by surprise. I never dreamed- 
of this. Your offer is generous, noble. You have 
been a kind, dear friend to me, and I respect you ; but 
marriage ! — No, no — there is a bar. 

Amos. You are a widow ? 

Hester. Widow or wife, Heaven alone can answer. 
Mr. Gaylord, there must be no secrets between us now. 
Listen to me ; listen to a story never breathed to mor- 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 119 

tal ears before. Years ago, I, a young girl, was wooed 
by two suitors, both handsome and accomplished. 
One became my partner, and, for a year, happiness 
was my lot. Then a child was born to me, and still 
my happiness continued ; my husband loved me, and 
my home was heaven itself. When our little girl was 
three years old, the other suitor returned from a foreign 
land. My husband and he were intimate; he came to 
our house, and in an evil hour professed his love for 
me. I spurned him ; but still he came. Then I com- 
mitted the first error c f my married life. I kept his 
secret from my husband, but still avoided him with 
loathing: and abhorrence. He — villain that he was — 
filled his friend's ears with slanderous reports. My 
husband grew cold, and still my lips were closed. One 
night — shall I ever forget it ? — I awoke to find my- 
self alone. My husband had fled with our child, leav- 
ing behind, in letters that burned into my brain, his 
bitter taunts for my unfaithfulness and guilt. O, heav- 
ens, I, innocent and loving, to be so accused ! From 
that day I have never seen them. 

Amos. But could you find no clue ? 

Hester. None ; day followed day, and still I waited. 
A year passed, and I read in a paper, marked for my 
inspection, the death of my child in a distant city. 

Amos. Was no provision made for your support? 

Hester. Ample ; but I was too proud to take his 
wealth while he believed me guilty. With my own 
hands I toiled, patiently trusting to time to work out 
the right. Years have followed years, and still I wait. 
O Heaven, be merciful ; shed some light upon my dark 



120 ABOVE THE CLOUDS- 

path, ere I go down into the grave. Let him believe 
me innocent, and death will be a welcome release. 

Amoz. This is a sad story, Mrs. Thorne. I thank 
you for the telling. You have a friend in me, trust 
me — a home here among us. You have been deeply 
w T ronged, and I'll search the world over, but your in- 
nocence shall be made clear. 

Hester. No, no ; let it rest. Were my child living, 
for her sake I would be vindicated ; but I am alone, 
and, confident in my own integrity, can wait the right- 
eous verdict in the great hereafter. \_JEkdt door l. 

Amos. She's a noble woman ; there's' goodness and 
honesty in her face. 'Tis hard to lose her; but I'll 
have the truth, wherever it rests. 

(Enter Alfred Thokpe, c.) 

Thorpe. Ah, my old friend, your doors are open, 
and, of course, the latch-string is out. 

Amos (shaking hands). Thorpe, welcome, welcome ; 
this is a surprise. 

Thorpe. Indeed ! Then my poetical protege, Nat 
Naylor, has surely not performed his duty. I sent him 
here to announce my coming. 

Amos. No matter; it needed no ceremony ; we are 
always ready to receive you. 

Thorpe. And my friends, I trust. But where's my 
Grace, and how is she ? Enraptured with your de- 
lightful- scenery, I'll be bound. 

Amos. Yes ; enjoying herself hugely. She's a genius, 
Thorpe. Where did you find such a treasure ? 

Thorpe. Ah, that's a secret. But, between you and 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 121 

me, she's the daughter of a couple whose married life 
was not as happy as it should have been. The wife 
went astray, and the husband went roaming, nobody 
knows where. 

Amos. And Grace — does she know of this ? 

Thorpe. No ; she believes them both dead. 

Amos. Ah, and their names ? 

Thorpe. O come, come, old friend, you are getting 
excited. I've told you quite enough. The rest is my 
secret. The intrigues of the world in which I live can 
scarcely interest you in your simple, honest, country life. 

Amos. And you are content to practise this decep- 
tion upon a young girl ? 

Thorpe. Who would be made unhappy by the 
knowledge I withhold ? Yes, believe me, old friend, in 
all I do, I am anxious to secure her happiness ; for she 
has become very dear to me — so dear that I am here 
for the sole purpose of asking her to become my wife. 

Amos. Ah, this is a part of your secret ? 

Thorpe. Yes. I've told you I am a man of the 
world. I never allow anything to thwart me in my 
inclinations and desires. She is dependent upon me. 
I have made her young life pleasant and happy. Every 
wish has been gratified, every desire fulfilled. She 
looks upon me as her benefactor; and when I ask her 
hand, I have no fear of a refusal. 

Amos. But there's such a difference in your ages. 
She may respect you as her benefactor, but when you 
ask her love, she may rebel. 

Thorpe. Possibly ; but when she hears the story of 
her parents — when she knows that by making it pub- 



122 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

lie she might feel the stigma of their shame, she'll be 
glad to buy my silence. 

Amos. And you could do this ? 

Thorpe. Certainly, if by no other means I could 
gain her consent. 

Amos. Why, this is cowardly, unmanly. Thorpe, 
I would not believe you could be guilty of so base a 
deed. 

Thorpe. Tut, tut ; this is the way of the world — 
my world. 

Amos. Then your world is a province of the infer- 
nal kingdom ! 

Thorpe. Possibly. And yours, of the better world ; 
for here you are much nearer to the heavens. Come, 
come, old friend, keep my secret and lead me to my 
protege. 

Amos. She 's here. ( Goes up stage.) 

{Enter Grace, e.) 

Thorpe. Ah, Grace! Grace! 

Grace (running to him and taking his hand). Wel- 
come, a thousand times welcome, Mr. Thorpe ! 

Thorpe. What a change ! The mountain air has 
put a rich color in your face ; you are wondrous beau- 
tiful, child. So you are glad to meet me again ? 

Grace. Indeed — indeed I am. If the mountain 
air has freshened my complexion, my absence from you 
has freshened the recollection of how much I owe 
to you, — how grateful I should be for all your care 
of me. 

Turtle (outside a). How soon will dinner be ready ? 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 123 

Thorpe. Ah, there's Turtle ; with characteristic in- 
stinct he is sniffing the country air to catch a whiff 
from the kitchen fire. ( Goes up c.) This way, Turtle. 
(Amos comes to e. and speaks with Grace.) 

Turtle {outside a). It's very well to say this way ; 
but, considering what I weigh, you'd better let me have 
my way in getting up. {Passes window with Lucee- 
tia on his arm, and enters c.) Thorpe, this is a 
wretched country; it's all up stairs. 

Thorpe. Don't grumble, old fellow. Mr. Gaylord, 
my friend Titus Turtle. 

Amos. Glad to see you (shakes hands). 

Turtle. Thank you. Fine place you have, Mr. Gay- 
lord. Ah, my little friend Grace! (Passes Amos, and 
takes her hand.) And how are you ? Hearty, eh ? 

Grace. Quite well, thank you, and delighted to 
meet you again. 

Thorpe. ( To Amos, presenting Miss Geeeish.) My 
friend, Miss Gerrish. 

" Amos. Happy to meet you, and hope to make your 
stay pleasant in our homely way. 

Lucretia. Thank you. 'Tis really a delightful place ; 
delightful trees ; delightful hills ; delightful odors ; and 
all — so romantic. 

Turtle. Right, Miss Lucretia (snuffs) ; delightful 
odor (snuffs). (Aside) Roast mutton. 

Lucretia {running to window, e.). O, Mr. Turtle, 
do come here, quick ; such an exquisite prospect ! 

Turtle (goes to table). Thank you; here's a finer 
prospect to my taste (takes apple and eats). 

Lucretia. How gracefully those boughs bend to- 
wards the ground. 



124 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Turtle. They can't help it ; they're loaded down 
with apples. 

Jjucretia. And do see those lambs frolicking in the 
sunshine. Sportive, innocent creatures. I do love 
lambs — so romantic. 

Turtle {helping himself to another apple). So do I 
— with mint-sauce. 

Lucretia. And do see that poor dumb animal fast- 
ened there in the grass, like a martyr at the stake. 

Turtle. Ah, what luscious steaks he '11 make when 
he 's cut up ! Mr. Gaylord, what is the dinner hour in 
this mountainous country ? 

Amos. Twelve o'clock, Mr. Turtle. 

Turtle {looking at icatch) . O ! — two hours, thirty- 
five minutes and ten seconds (sinks into arm-chair, l.). 
I shall starve before that time ! 

Amos. Suppose we furnish you a lunch ? 

Turtle. Capital idea, Mr. Gaylord ; I've not eaten 
anything since six o'clock! 

Thorpe. Titus ! 

Lucretia. Mr. Turtle ! 

Turtle. Well, nothing worth mentioning. 

Thorpe. The lunch-basket was very heavy when we 
started. It is empty now ; and neither Miss Gerrish 
nor I have helped unload it. If I recollect right, there 
were a pair of chickens. 

Turtle. Only six pounds ! What's that to a hungry 
man ? 

JOucretia. Three dozen sandwiches. 

Turtle. Mere wafers ! 

Thorpe. Two dozen eggs. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 125 

Turtle. So very small ! 

Thorpe. A box of sardines ; two dozen crackers; 
and turnovers enough to stock a country muster. O, 
Turtle, you cannot be hungry after such a feast. 

Turtle. Feast ? Call that a feast ? Thorpe, I blush 
for you ! You're getting niggardly ! I shall have to 
be caterer for the balance of our trip. 

Thorpe. Then I'll provide a baggage-wagon. 

Lucretia. O, Mr. Turtle — dear Mr. Turtle, do make 
me happy by leading me to those flower-beds that 
bloom outside the window ? 

Thorpe. Yes, Turtle ; and Grace and I will bear 
you company. 

Turtle. That's right, Thorpe. You take them both, 
and I'll join you after I've had my lunch. 

Grace. I'll show the way. Come. \JExit r. 1 e. 
(Lucretia takes Thorpe's arm.) 

Thorpe {aside). Confound that glutton, he's spoiled 
a fine tete-a-tete with Grace. {Aloud) Turtle, remem- 
ber where you are, and don't make a hog of yourself. 
\_JSxeunt Thorpe and Lucretia, r. 1 e. 

Turtle. Now that's unkind of Thorpe. Is there 
anything about me, Mr. Gaylord, that bears the least 
resemblance to a hog ? Hogs don't go upon two legs. 
Hogs have no delicate appreciation of the delights of 
eating. Hog indeed ! ^ 

Amos. Never mind, Mr. Turtle ; it's one of Thorpe's 
pleasantries. 

Turtle. But I don't like it; it's a rude attack upon 
the fundamental principles of my being. Nature en- 
dowed me with uncommonly fine digestive faculties 



126 ABOYE THE CLOUDS. 

and gastronomic talents. I didn't ask Nature to do it ; 
but having received what I did receive, it is my duty 
to use my talents — isn't it ? 

Amos. Undoubtedly, Mr. Turtle. 

Turtle. Thorpe has no taste. He 's all head ; for- 
ever scheming. Smart, but unscrupulous. For proof — 
years ago we both enjoyed the hospitalities of a friend. 
Such dinners ! my mouth waters at the thought. I 
made love to our friend's table ; he to our friend's wife; 
consequence was — while I only broke bread, he broke 
up the family. "Well, of the two, I'd rather be a hog 
than a serpent, for hogs are death on snakes. 

Amos [aside) Ah, this is news indeed ! 

Turtle. Then there's the girl Grace Ingalls. There's 
a queer story there. When he took her from old Jack 
Graham's house, at Greenland, she passed by another 
name than that. Hog indeed ! A hog would have to 
root long and well to unearth the secret you have kept 
so well, Alfred Thorpe. 

Amos. Ah, the secret ! 

Turtle. Eh ? O, bah ! that's my nonsense, Mr. Gay- 
lord ; don't mind it. Come, let 's to lunch. 

Amos (aside) Ah, he's crawled into his shell again 
•—this Turtle. But enough ; I have a clue. (Aloud) Be 
patient, Mr. Turtle, I will have it arranged at once. 

\JExit door l. 

Turtle. The old fellow looks hearty, and I've no 
doubt has a good larder. 

(Enter ISTatlok, c.) 
JVat. Ah, Turtle, my boy, I've been looking for you. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 127 

Give me my turtle — crying everywhere, 

Until the echoes sent mock-turtle through the air. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Turtle. Now don't do that, Nat ; you'll spoil my 
appetite. Those spasms of wit must be an awful strain 
on your weak brain. Rhyming is a sure sign of dys- 
pepsia; but when to that you add punning, you are 
digging a pit that will undermine your constitution. 

Nat. What matters this frail structure unto me ? 
I feed upon the heights of Poesy. 

Turtle. Must be high old feeding, — if you 're a 
specimen, Nat. 

Nat. I hear afar the sound of rippling rills ; 
I scent the verdure of a thousand hills. 

Turtle. No, you don't. {Snuffs.) That's mutton 
roasting. {Snuffs.) Glorious — isn't it ? O, will din- 
ner-time never come ? 

{Enter Susy, door l.) 

Susy. Lunch is on the table, sir. 

Turtle. Ah, that's glorious news ! Come, Nat, 
join me with a knife and fork. I'll show you poetry — 
the poetry of motion from the hand to the mouth — 
something you can feel ; something you can taste. 
Come on. {Exit l. 

Susy. Will you follow him, Mr. Naylor ? 

Nat. While such an angel hovers in my way? 

Thank you ; at present, think I'd rather stay. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Susy. That's very pretty. Going to stay long ? 



128 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Nat. Well, Miss Susy, I cannot say. It seems to 
me I have been here too long already. 

My fluttering heart in piteous accents cries, 
Naylor, begone; for Jiere sweet danger lies. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Susy. O, there's nothing here to hurt you ; a few 
snakes and woodchucks. Ain't afraid of woodchucks, 
are you ? 

Nat. Were they as fierce as lions, I would rout, 
Yea, from your presence I would chuck them out. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Susy. O what a man for rhyming ! Do you know, 
Mr. Naylor, I am something of a poet ? 

Nat. You ? Charming ! I felt there was some hid- 
den beauty about you which attracted me. 

Susy. O yes ; I make verses — (aside) as ridiculous 
as yours. You'll find them all over the house. There's 
a sweet little legend of mine over the back door: — 
Stranger pilgrim, pause awhile; 

On this door-step, broad and flat, 
Let no stains of earth defile ; 
Wipe your boots upon the mat. 
(Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! 

Nat. Splendid ! Beautiful ! The true poetic prin- 
ciple. 

Susy. Think so ? Well, here's another. Mine are 
domestic verses. 

Wanderer, at tbe dizzy brink 
Of this freshly-painted sink, 
Beware the thrifty housewife's grow(e)l ; 
On its peg hang up the towel. 
(Aside) Impromptu. Ahem! 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 129 

Nat. Exquisite ! So appropriate ! Ah, Miss Susy, 
I toil over an humble rhyme in the hope that one of 
these days I shall strike a mine of poetic metal that 
shall make the world ring with the music of my verse. 
Now, that's a pretty sentiment, if I could only put it 
into verse. 

Susy. Perhaps I could help you. 

JVat. O, if you only would, I should adore you. 

Susy. Would you? Suppose we wander in the 
garden — there's so much there to inspire ? 

Nat. With pleasure. ( Offers his arm.) 

Susy (taking it.) You want to strike a mine? 

Nat. I aim to reach a rich poetic mine. 

Susy. As green and sappy as a towering pine. 
How's that? 

Nat. Very bad, Miss Susy. Pines have nothing in 
common with mines. 

Susy. Certainly they do. Ain't they both blasted ? 
Well, if you don't like that, try again. 

Nat. Grant me to find the true poetic mine, 

Susy. That laurels may my burning brow entwine. 

Nat. O, that's capital ! I 'd be the poorest scholar 
in thy school. 

Susy. Stood on a bench, and plainly labelled — fool ! 
Ha, ha, ha ! Impromptu. Ahem ! (Buns off c.) Ha, 
ha, ha ! 

Nat (following). Now Miss Susy ! how could you ? 

[Exit c. 
(Enter Grace, r. 1 e.) 

Grace. * There's something in Mr. Thorpe's manner 
I do not like. Twice he has seized my hand with a 
9 



130 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

fervor that startled me ; and continually his eyes are 
fixed upon my face with a look that terrifies me (goes 
to easel). So I've left him to listen to Miss Gerrish's 
rhapsodies. Ha, ha, ha ! So romantic {works at her 
picture), 

(Enter Hestee, door l.) 

Hester. Good morning, Grace (comes to easel) . 

Grace (extending her hand). Good morning, dear 
friend. We have missed you sadly. 

Hester. Indeed ! 'Tis pleasant to be missed. And 
how comes on our famous picture ? 

Or ace. Judge for yourself. 

Hester (looking at picture). Ah, better and better. 
It improves with every touch of your brush (lays hand 
on her head). Ah, my dear, you will become famous ! 

Grace. And that is something to be desired. 

Hester. Yes ; when laurels can be worn modestly, 
as you will wear them (removes her hand). 

Grace. Don't take your hand away ; its caress sym- 
bolizes something to be desired more than laurels. 

Hester (replacing her hand). And that is — 

Grace. Affection. O, Mrs. Thome, a mother's 
touch could be no more gentle and soothing — and 
that I have not felt for years. 

Hester (kisses her). Poor child ! 

Grace. O, thank you, Mrs. Thorn e ; you are a 
mother ? 

Hester. Alas ! a childless mother. Once I clasped 
a tiny form, showered kisses on its infant lips, stroked 
with tenderness its golden locks, and was so happy. 
But we were parted ; and the sweet memory of that 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 131 

happy union are all that 's left me now. O, my little 
daughter ! my darling, darling child ! ( Weeps.) 

Grace. (Hises and puts her arm about her waist / 
leads her down front.) O, would I could take that 
daughter's place ; not to drive her from your heart, but 
to share with her its love — the living and the dead! 

Hester. O, Grace, there 's a tone in your voice, a 
look on your face, that brings her back to me. Had 
she lived, she would have been of your age. 

Grace. Then let her live in me. I could toil for 
you, suffer for you, to be recompensed with the delight 
of calling you " mother." 

Hester. Then call me — .No, no ; I had forgotten. 
Grace, that name cannot be given me now. My fair 
fame has been tampered with. O Grace, child, pity 
me. I am innocent in thought and deed, but the 
sharp dart of suspicion has been launched at me, and 
I must bear the sting. 

Grace. But not alone. Let me share your sorrow ; 
comfort you as you can comfort me. 

Hester. No, no, it cannot be. I should love you so 
dearly, that when the sneers of the world should come 
— as come they would — and should part us, my mis- 
ery would be more than I could bear. Heaven help 
me, I am indeed accursed ! ( Totters to arm-chair, 
throws herself into it; covers her face with her hand- 
kerchief and weeps?) 

Grace, c. O, this is cruel ! 

Thorpe {outside a). Grace, Grace ! {Enters c. and 
comes down e.) You little witch, why do you run 
away from me, when I've come here on purpose to see 
you ? ( Takes her hand.) Yes, Grace, to woo you ? 



132 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Grace. To woo — me ? (Hester removes her hand- 
kerchiefs and stares at him.) 

Thorpe. Yes, Grace ; you shall be my wife : I love 
you so dearly. 

Grace. No, no, not that. {Snatches away her hand, 
and runs r., leaving him staring at Hester.) Death 
rather. \_JExit r. 1 e. 

Thorpe {amazed). Hester Thorne ! 

Hester (bending forward). Ay, Alfred Thorpe, Hes- 
ter Thorne, the woman you have wronged. Coward ! 
Twelve years have not changed your heart, though 
your locks have all the beauty of honorable years. 
{Rises.) 

Thorpe. Well, we meet again. How ? as friends or 
foes? 

Hester. Can you ask? Dare you ask? You, who 
with smooth tongue and smiling face blasted a happy 
home, wrecked a good man's happiness, and sent a lov- 
ing woman forth to battle with the world. 

Thorpe. Hm! Well, I have your answer — Foes. 
So be it. What are you doing here ? 

Hester. My duty. 

Thorpe. You must be my friend Gaylord's house- 
keeper. Strange I never heard your name ! Perhaps 
you have changed it? 

Hester. No ; 'twas a good name, given me by an 
honorable man. I have not soiled, so should not blush 
to bear it. 

Thorpe. Indeed ! Well, you know I could make 
this place too hot for you ? 

Hester, Could you ? Try it. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 13 



9 



Thorpe. A whisper to Gaylord, and the house- 
keeper's place would be vacant. 

Hester. Do not leave your friend in the dark. Give 
him your confidence, your advice. Be an honorable 
counsellor — you are so fitted for it. 

Thorpe. Hester Thorne, beware ! Do not tempt 
me to crush you ! On one condition I am silent. Let 
not that girl Grace know we have met before. 

Hester. Condition ? No ; I will make no bargain 
with a villain. Do your worst. I have the courage — 
weak woman that you judge me — to fight you there 
— the power to win. 

Thorpe. Enough. I know my duty to my friend ; 
be assured I shall perform it. 

{Enter Amos l., with a valise in hand.) 

Amos. Thorpe, I come to beg your pardon for a 
most inhospitable act. I am called away suddenly ; 
have five minutes to catch the stage ; may be gone two 
or three days. Make yourself at home here, and trust 
your comfort to Mrs. Thorne. Good-bye (shakes hands 
with him). Good-bye, Mrs. Thorne {shakes hands 
with her, then goes up). 

Thorpe. But, Gaylord, one word. 

Amos (comes down). Well, be quick; I've no time 
to lose. 

Thorpe. Well — (looks at Mrs. Thorne ; she smiles 
and goes up stage to table.) Amos, you believe me to 
be your friend ? 

Amos. Certainly. 

Thorpe. That woman there is dangerous. 



134 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Amos (whistles). You don't mean it ? Well, Thorpe, 
do you know, I've just begun to think so? 

Thorpe. I've met her before. She is not what she 
seems. She's a deserted wife. 

Amos. Is she, poor thing ? 

Thorpe. Deserted by her husband, and not without 
cause. I could tell you a story. 

Amos. But I haven't time. Goodness gracious! 
how my legs will have to fly now ! 

Thorpe. And you will trust that woman here after 
what I have told you ? 

Amos. Certainly. Why not, Thorpe? I'm sur- 
prised at you — a man of the world, you know. She 's 
a good housekeeper, and — and — the rest is my secret 
(with mock pomposity). The mysteries of my " sim- 
ple, honest country life" — ahem! — can scarcely interest 
you — the man of intrigue, you know. Don't be fright- 
ened, she won't hurt. Good-bye (goes up). Ah, Mrs. 
Thome, I believe I forgot to shake hands with you 
(gives hand). 

Hester. A pleasant journey, sir. 

Amos. Thank you. Take good care of yourself 
(with a look at Thorpe). I know you'll care for the 
comfort of my guest, for I have every confidence in 
you; nothing could shake that. Good-bye (runs offc). 

Thorpe. Curse that woman! she has bewitched 
him (goes u.) . 

Hester (coming down l.). Well, Mr. Thorpe, it 
seems your power to harm me here is weak. 

[Exit door l. 

Thorpe. Time will tell. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 135 

{Enter Grace and Lucretia, arm in arm, r.) 

Lucretia. Perfectly enchanting ! I had no idea the 
country could be — so romantic ! O, Mr. Thorpe, I 
have had such an Arcadian ramble in the farm-yard, 
seeing the little chickens running about with the aban- 
don of children ; the fatherly roosters with their clarion 
chorus; and the motherly biddies, with their careful 
affection for their young. Even the swine in their 
rustic abode, with the little pink-nosed pigs frolicking 
about them, was a delicious picture — so romantic ! 
(Goes to lounge.) 

Phil (outside). Not for me — not for me. There's 
freedom without. I'll be none of your hot-house 
flowers. Good-bye. 

Grace. Ah ! there's Crazy Phil. I've lured him in 
once ; I'll try it again. 

Thorpe. Shall I never get a word with her? 

Grace (at door ; smiles off). He sees me. Yes, I 
triumph. He 's here. (Phil runs up to c. with gun.) 

Phil. Ah, those bright eyes again ! There 's magic 
in their glance. Wife — child — home — come back 
to this desolate heart ! 

Thorpe. Ah ! (Aside) Brought to light at last. 
(Aloud) Crazy Phil indeed! Ha, ha, ha! 

Phil (starts). Ah, that voice ! 'Tis he — the de- 
stroyer ! Years come and go, but fate holds the lines 
of life. We meet at last, — despoiler of my home ! 
Wretch accursed ! Death to thee ! Death to thee ! 
(liaises gun.) 

Grace. No, no. (Buns down to Thorpe and throws 



136 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

arms about his neck.) He 's mad ! he 's mad ! (How- 
ard enters door c, seizes Phil around waist, and 
snatches gun.) 

Howard. Madman, hold ! 

Phil {struggling to free himself). Away! He's 
mine — he's mine ! Foul bird of prey ! you feasted at 
my hearth-stone ; you plucked from out my heart my 
life ! my love ! Henceforth you are marked ; my aim 
is sure. Beware of Phil Thorne ! 

{Enter Mrs. Thorne, l.) 

Hester. Phil ! — my husband ! {Falls with her arm 
and head in arm-chair.) 

Tableau. Phil at door c, his clenched hand raised. 
Howard, with arm about waist, holding him back. 
Thorpe r. Grace, with arms about his neck, head 
on his breast. Hester lying with her head in arm- 
chair. Lucretia on lounge, looking on. 

[Slow Curtain."] 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 137 



Act II. — Scene: Same as in Act I. Easel removed 
from the stage. Foot of lounge turned toward 
window, r. Moonlight through window strong on 
Phil, who lies upon lounge, boots changed for slip- 
pers. Howard standing at head of lounge, leaning 
against flat, his hand on Phil's head. Hester 
standing behind window in flat, looking in at Phil. 
Footlights down. Music soft and low at rising 
of curtain. 

Phil. How grandly the moonlight tips my old hut 
above the clouds! Dear old place; would I were 
there, where all is peace. Ah, Howard, when I de- 
scend that mountain, I leave behind my better self. 
The sight of the habitations of man awakes bit- 
ter memories of wrong and outrage, fill me with 
loathing of my race, and stir my baser nature with 
fierce desires for revenge. Why is it? Here I am 
always under the clouds ; dark, dismal night forever 
here. 

Howard. And yet the moonlight lingers as loving- 
ly about you here as there. See how it floods the 
fields and shimmers on the stream. Ah, Phil, 'tis a 
beautiful world — this of ours ; and, whether on the 
mountain-top or in the valley, robed in light or darkness 
at the desire of our own hearts, 

Phil. That's queer philosophy ! 

Howard. 'Tis the truth, Phil. I am young and 
buoyant; life has gone smoothly for me, and all is 



138 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

light. You have suffered — still suffer ; and the dark- 
ness of night has fallen upon your heart, blinding your 
eyes to all the beauty about you. Am I not right ? 

Phil. Why am I lying here, Howard ? 

Howard. I am glad to hear you ask that, Phil. 'Tis 
three days since you were suddenly prostrated. You 
remember the day we went gunning — Monday? 

Phil Yes. 

Howard. On our return you were suddenly taken 
ill, and until this afternoon you were unconscious. 

Phil. Yes. Well, I'm better now. But why was 
I taken ill ? 

Howard. Well, you don't care to know that, Phil ? 

Phil. You need not pause, Howard. I know I 
met here under your roof my wife and — and — 

Howard. Mr. Thorpe. 

Phil. Under the same roof, — he, the false, — and 
she, the faithless ! O, Howard that man — that fiend ! 
Where is he ? Did I slay him ? 

Howard. He is gone ; where, I know not. 

Phil {starting to his feet). ISTo matter; I'd reach 
him, were he at the centre of the earth. Curse him ! 
I thought long years had dulled my spirit; but the 
sight of him has aroused the avenging demon in my 
soul, nought but his life can satisfy. ( Goes to e.) 

Howard {comes down l.). No, no, Phil; forget your 
wrongs ; forgive your enemy. 

Phil (e.). Forgive him? Howard, that man was 
my dearest friend. We both loved one woman. She 
chose me ; and he, clasping my hand, wished me hap- 
piness, and fled abroad, to crush out his passion. Well, 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 139 

his wish was fulfilled. I was happy, supremely happy. 
Wife and child — two golden links in life's chain — were 
mine. Then he returned, still my friend. With full 
faith in his friendship, I received him a welcome guest 
in my home. Then, then, over the sunshine of my 
life rolled the dark clouds. He was one of your soci- 
ety-men — glib of tongue, ready to fetch and carry at 
the glance of a bright eye ; all smiles and pretty ways 
— bah ! a ladies' man — while I was brusque and some- 
times rough, — though not to her — no, not to her. 
(Crosses ton.) I saw she was pleased at his attentions. 

Howard. And you were jealous ? 

Phil. Not then. But one day I saw him slip a note 
into her hand ; another ; caught him at her feet ; and 
then, filled with fury, I followed him from the house 
to his hotel, and there faced him and demanded an 
explanation. Then, Howard, that man, — my friend, 
trembling in every limb, with tears streaming down his 
cheeks, — confessed to me that he still loved my wife ; 
and more, that she loved him ; showed me letters 
signed with the name I gave her, confessing her mis- 
take in making me her choice. In maddening rage I 
felled him to the floor and fled — fled to my now un- 
happy home {comes to l.). 

Howard. And your wife ? 

Phil. Lay sleeping sweetly with a smile upon her 
lips, my child beside her. I raised my hand with pas- 
sion, to dash out of that face the beauty that had so 
deceived me. But I could not do it. I snatched the 
child from its mother's side, and went out into the 
night — night to me for evermore. 



140 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Howard. Without a word from your wife, Phil? 
Condemned her you had sworn to love, cherish, and 
protect ? Crazy Phil indeed ! You were a madman 
then ! 

Phil. Had I not proofs ? Her letters — the con- 
fession of my friend ? 

Howard. Friend? Base coward that he was! 
False to her ; false to you ! One word of denial from 
her lips — the wife of your bosom, the mother of your 
child — should have outweighed his guilty confession 
a thousand-fold. Tell me, Phil — you sought her after- 
wards ? 

Phil. No, never ; since that night we have been 
strangers. Never met until I found them here together. 
You hear, Howard, — together here! 

Howard. A mere accident. Mrs. Thorne is our 
housekeeper. Thorpe, my father's friend and guest. 

Phil. Ah, you know not that man — this wo- 
man! 

Howard. I know no woman base enough to betray 
a loving husband's confidence. I will not believe this 
of her whom I respect and honor as I did my mother. 
Phil, you must meet her here, listen to the story from 
her lips. 

Phil. ISTo, I will not meet her. I will back to my 
hut above the clouds. 

Howard. And leave her still under the cloud that 
has saddened her life. O, Phil ! Phil ! I thought you 
true and noble. 

Phil. Think what you will. Wronged by my friend, 
betrayed by my wife, I have lost all worth living for. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 141 

{Fiercely.) I hate the world ; I hate myself! Let me 
go ! — there — there — {totters). 

Howard {supporting him). Not to-night, Phil. You 
are weak, ill. Forgive me ; it was cruel in me to probe 
those angry wounds. Come back to your room. We 
are friends still, Phil. 

Phil {talcing his hand) . Heaven bless you, Howard ! 
I've none but you now. Don't speak ; something in 
your words has stirred me strangely. Be silent ; let 
me think ; let me rest. {Music soft ; Phil leads him 
off door l. Hester comes down slowly, c, watching 
the door.) 

Hester. I have heard his voice ; unobserved listened 
to his story. How he has misconceived my actions, Hea- 
ven, myself, and he the wily plotter alone know. He 
confessed with tears in his eyes, base hypocrite ! O, 
Phil, my husband — lost to me ! He shall confess once 
more ; confess the truth — the honest truth, to do me 
justice. Fool that I have been ! I have allowed sus- 
picion to crush me to the earth, without one effort to 
clear my name. Now ray woman's nature is in arms 
against this base injustice {comes to r.). I am not 
friendless ; those true-hearted sons of the soil — Hea- 
ven bless them ! — believe me, trust me. They have 
given me courage to seek the weakness in this villain's 
armor. Hester, be brave, be resolute, and victory may 
yet be yours. \Exit r. 1 e. 

{Enter Grace, c.) 

Grace, O dear! for the first time I feel really 
homesick! There's no pleasure in roaming in the 



142 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

moonlight alone ; it requires two to take in the Ml 
beauty of a night like this! Heigho ! I miss my usual 
escort. ( Takes book from table, and goes to lounge ; 
sits.) Whittier. ( Opens book.) " Howard Gaylord." 
So, so — my farmer friend is an admirer of our New 
England poet. It's been well thumbed, too, especially 
" Among the Hills." (Beads.) 

" Prom school, and ball, and rout, she came, 
The city's fair, pale daughter, 
To drink the wine of mountain air, 
Beside the Bearcamp Water." 

That's splendid ! my own favorite, — and it seems to 
be his too. The leaves are dog-eared, and the page 
muddy with finger marks. O, 

" The city's fair, pale daughter," 

must be very dear to him. I wonder if in his heart- 
picture she bears any resemblance to me ? O, here he 
is ! (Reads.) 

(Enter Howaed, door l.) 

Howard (aside). Reading in the moonlight. What 
a pretty picture she makes ! Alone — there's a temp- 
tation. If I only had the gift of tongue that graces her 
city admirers, I might — well — say that which would 
make us strangers. I could not bear her scorn. 
(Aloud) Reading by moonlight? Take care, Miss 
Grace ; even the brightness of your eyes may be 
dimmed. 

Grace (looJcing up). Ah, Mr. Gay lord, there's no 
danger : 'tis as light as noonday. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 143 

Howard. The book must be very interesting that 
can so attract you. 

Grace. It is. I am " Among the Hills," and you 
step in very apropos. 

Howard. "Among the Hills?" Then you are in 
that region of the unequalled poet's fancy, where I 
most delight to wander. 

Grace. I should think so by the appearance of your 
book. "Were you a boy at school, you would get many 
bad marks for the very bad marks you have placed 
upon it. 

Howard. I am a boy at school, Miss Grace — the 
school of the painter. Will you teach me ? 

Grace. I ? I am but a scholar. You know the 
poem? 

Howard. By heart. I could repeat it word for 
word. 

Grace. 'Tis very odd you should have dropped in 
just at this time, for I was reading. {Beads.) 

" She sat beneath the broad- armed elms 

That skirt the mowing-meadow, * 

And watched the gentle west-wind weave 
The grass with shine and shadow." 

Now here 's where you came in : 

" Beside her, from the summer heat 
To share her grateful screening, 
With forehead bared, the farmer stood, 
Upon his pitchfork leaning." 

Only you haven't the pitchfork. 

Howard. Go on. I could listen to you all night ; 
you throw so much heart into it. 



144 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Grace. Do I ? (Heads.) 

" Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face 
Had nothing mean or common, — 
Strong, manly, true, the tenderness 
And pride beloved of woman. 

" She looked up, glowing with the health 
The country air had brought her, 
And, laughing, said, ' You lack a wife, 
Your mother lacks a daughter. 



" ' To mend your frock and bake your bread 
You do not need a lady ; 
Be sure among these brown old homes 
Is some one waiting ready.' " 

Grace. O, I forgot you have no mother ! But the rest 
is true. There is " some one waiting ready." 

Howard. In " these brown old homes " ? No, I am 
free to take up the burden of the lay. (Recites with 
spirit.) 

" He bent his black brows to a frown, 

He set his white teeth tightly. 

* 'Tis well,' he said, ' for one like you 

To choose for me so lightly. 

" 'You think me deaf and blind; you bring 
Your winning graces hither 



As free as if from cradle-time 
We two had played together. 

" 4 You tempt me with your laughing eyes, 
Your cheeks of sundown's blushes, 
A motion as of waving grain, 
A music as of thrushes. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 145 

" c No mood is mine to seek a wife, 
Or daughter for my mother ; 
Who loves you loses in that love 
All power to love another ! 

" ' I dare your pity or your scorn, 

With pride your own exceeding; 
I fling my heart into your lap 
{Kneels at her feet.) 

Without a word of pleading.' " 

O, Grace, Grace, it is the truth. I love you, and you 
alone. {Takes her hand.) 

Grace. Why, that's not in the poem. 

Howard. No ; it is in my heart. 

Grace. {Looks at him archly / places her hand in 
his.) It's a pity to spoil the poem. {Recites.) 

11 She looked up in his face of pain 

So archly, yet so tender : 
* And if I lend you mine,' she said, 
' Will you forgive the lender ? 

" ' Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; 
And see you not, my farmer, 
How weak and fond a woman waits 
Behind this silken armor ? 

{Puts her hand on his shoulder, and looks down into 
his eyes.) 

" ' I love you ; on that love alone, 
And not my worth, presuming, 
Will you not trust for summer fruit 
The tree in May-day blooming? '" 

Howard, as frankly as you offered, as freely will I re- 
10 



146 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

ceive, yours — yours alone. [Kisses his brow. Both 
rise.) 

Howard. Ah, Grace, Grace ; you have made me 
very happy. (Pats his arm about her waist.) Come, 
let's go into the garden. 

" And so the farmer found a wife, 
His mother found a daughter ; 
Grace. There looks no happier home than hers 

On pleasant Bearcamp Water." 

Howard. Ah, Grace, Heaven bless the dear poet. 

Grace. It does, "for all his works do praise him.'' 
(They pass off through the window e., his arm about 
her waist.) 

(Enter Nat, c, with Susy leaning on his arm.) 

Susy. Why, Mr. Naylor, what's the matter with 
you? You have not made a rhyme for the last hour. 

Nat. The minstrel's strings are mute ; the fire upon 
the altar of poesy smoulders ; the theme which agitates 
my brain respectfully declines to shape itself for utter- 
ance — because why ? 

Susy. Well, perhaps the strings are rotten, the 
wood green, and the theme too weighty ? 

Nat. O, for seraphic light to break the gloom. 

Susy. Wouldn't moonlight do as well? There's 
plenty of it here (sits on lounge). 

Nat (standing c.) 

Cold Luna floods thee with her silvery light, 
O, beauteous maid, ne'er saw I fairer sight. 

Susy (aside). The wood is sizzling on the altar; 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 147 

we'll soon have another blaze. (Aloud) Don't be so 
distant. Come, sit down. (Nat sits.) Now what is 
this mighty theme ? 

Nat. "Pis Love — ecstatic Love. 

Susy. O ! 

Nat. I wander up and down in strange unrest, 
For love is struggling — is struggling — 

Susy. Underneath my vest. That's good. 

Nat. O, no, no. 

Susy. Ha, ha, ha! That's what I call clothing a 
sentiment in warm language. Well, what next ? 

Nat. Nothing. There it struggles, there it sticks. 
O, Susy, Susy, I'm getting — 

Susy. Boozy. That's a capital rhyme. 

Nat. Miss Susy Gaylord, you shock me ! 

Susy. Do I ? That's a shocking confession when 
I'm doing my best to help you. I told you I would. 
Now, isn't that moon splendid ? See the trees yonder, 
with leaves of silver (both look off r.). 

{Enter Chips, c.) 

Chips (at door). I was just going by. Ah, there 
they are billing and cooing like a couple of lunatics. 
( Creeps down stage to arm-chair, turns it round so that 
bach is towards Nat ; gets on his knees in it, and 
watches them over the top while speaking.) I'm bio wed 
if I don't hear what's going on. I ain't going to be 
cut out with Susy without a wrestle. 

Nat. A fairy scene. It moves me, thrills me ; my 
heart heaves with bliss. 

Chips (aside). Well, clap on a little mustard, and 
make it blister. 



148 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Nat. And see those fairy forms moving among the 
trees. 

Chips {aside). Fairy forms ? I'm darned if Gaylord's 
pigs ain't got loose again. 

Nat. Ah, for a poet's home in that delightful grove, 
with an angel ever at my side — that angel you. 

Susy. Law, Mr. Naylor, how you do go on ; first 
Chips calls me an angel, and now you. 

Nat. Chips ? Mention not that rustic booby. 

Chips. Booby ! ( Gets out of chair ; starts towards 
Nat, then runs back.) 

Susy {rises indignantly). Booby ! How dare you 
call my friend such a name ! 

Nat. It is the truth : he is a rough, uncouth booby. 
I know he seeks to gain your love. But when I, with 
my pure, poetic nature, tell you — sweet and beautiful 
damsel — that your charms have kindled a flame in 
this before obdurate heart; that I love you — 

Susy. No more, sir. Booby indeed ! Curtis Chip- 
man is far above you in manhood, nobility, and good- 
ness. He is rough and uncouth as the rocky soil he 
with his strong hands has made to bring forth abun- 
dant fruits. A man, sir, and not a maudlin idiot filled 
with gush and moonshine. ( Comes down e.) 

Nat {goes to a). And have I been deceived in you ? 
you, whose poetic nature, blending with mine — 

Susy. Has sported with you. Yes. O, Mr. Nay- 
lor, go back to your attic. Live in the clouds ; feed on 
Poesy's hills — you'll find no mate in me. 

Nat. Alas ! I am deceived ! My heart is crushed*— 
My spirit broken — 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 149 

Susy. And your verses mushed ! 

Ha, hn, ha ! Good-bye, my poet. We might have been 

good friends ; but when you attack Chips — my Chips — 

The rustic booby, really I must laugh, 
For I propose to be his better half. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

JVat. Farewell, cold Susy, I have wooed in vain ! 

Susy. You have ; your wood is green and crossed in 
grain. 
Impromptu. Ahem ! 

JVat (at door, c.) . Farewell. I'm blasted — blasted. 

\_Exit c. 

Chips {aside). I'm a blasted liar if I don't wal- 
lop him ! (Huns up and catches Susy in his arms ; 
swings her round.) O, Susy, Susy — you are an angel ! 
(Susy screams / Chips runs off c.) 

Susy. "Well, I never! Chips has heard all. There's 
no more fun for me. Dear me, I've forgotten Mr. Tur- 
tle's hourly lunch ! He'll be raving and starving too. 

\_JExit door l. 

(Miter, c, Turtle with Miss Lucretia on his arm.) 

Lucretia. So kind of you, Mr. Turtle, to wander 
with me in the beautiful night ; it quite fills an aching 
void — so romantic. 

Turtle (aside). It gives me an aching void — so 
hungry. 

Lucretia (going towards window). Is this the 
* witching hour of night,' which the poet so beautifully 
speaks of? 

Turtle. Can't say (looking at his watch). It's my 
hour for lunch. 



150 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Lucretia (sits on lounge). What a delightful situ- 
ation ; moonbeams shrouding me as in a silver veil ! 
Ah, I've often dreamed of such an hour as this — a 
scene like this — when the future partner of my joys 
and sorrows should claim me for his own — so ro- 
mantic. 

Turtle (aside). "Well, she lives on dreams. I'm 
glad I don't. 

Lucretia. He must be one who would love me for 
myself alone, and not for my money. 

Turtle (aside.) Has the old girl got money ? 
(Aloud.) O. Miss Lucretia, could there live a wretch 
who, looking upon your charms, would dare to woo 
you for your fortune ? (Aside.) That's neat and non- 
committal. (Aloud.) And yet, your fortune renders 
you independent of all suitors. A few thousands — 

Lucretia. A few ? I can count by tens of thou- 
sands ! 

Turtle (aside). Tens? She's a rich old girl. What 
dinners ! — what suppers ! (Approaching her tender- 
ly.) My dear Miss Lucretia, what would be hundreds 
of thousands to the man who, knowing your virtues, 
basking in your smiles, should be so fortunate as to 
win you? 

Lucretia. Then you believe in love, Mr. Turtle ; 
pure, genuine love, that scorns wealth and station ? 

Turtle. Unbounded love ! Yes, Lucretia (sits be- 
side her). 

Lucretia. Love and a cottage — so romantic. 

Turtle. Yes, Lucretia. (Aside.) Love-cake and 
cottage-pudding. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 151 

Lucretia. "With innocent lambs sporting about the 
door. 

Turtle. Yes, Lucretia. (Aside) Or smoking on the 
table. 

Lucretia. And the birds — What is your favorite 
bird ? 

Turtle. My favorite bird ? (Aside) Quail on toast. 
(Aloud) The cook — (9, dear Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite flower ? 

Turtle (aside). Best Family. (Aloud) The Marry 
gold, Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite seat? 

Turtle (aside). At the dinner-table. (Aloud) Un- 
der the oak, Lucretia. 

Lucretia. And your favorite vegetable ? 

Turtle (aside). Rare dishes. (Aloud) I could not 
turn up my nose at any of them, Miss Lucretia. 

Lucretia. Ah, what taste you have — so romantic. 
This is my dream of bliss — a cottage and a companion 
— bonds of affection and notes of gladness. 

Turtle. My heart echoes the glad refrain. (Aside) 
Government bonds and bank notes. 

Lucretia. What a delightful picture — so romantic. 

Turtle (aside). Such a picture should have a gold 
frame. (Aloud) Dear Miss Lucretia, could you look 
with favor on me — share your tens of thousands — 

Lucretia. Romantic visions, castles in the sky ; so 
ethereal ; so much more to be enjoyed than palaces of 
earth — my wealth, my all. What care I for the well- 
filled purse which another squanders ? I am poor in 
lucre, but a millionnaire in love. O, Titus, spare my 
blushes ! Yes — (Leans upon his shoulder?) 



152 ABOVE THE CLOUDS* 

Turtle {aside). She's poor as porridge. Here's a 
scrape. 

Lucretia. O, Titus, " Whisper what thou feelest." 
So romantic in the moonshine. 

Turtle (aside). Hang it, it's all moonshine. (Aloud) 
Lucretia, I feel — I feel — (aside) hungry 

Xucretia. I have so longed for this delicious mo- 
ment. 

Turtle (aside). ISTo doubt of it. (Aloud) Miss Lucre- 
tia, when I asked you to look with favor upon me, I felt 
how unworthy I was of your affection ; how badly . 
fitted I am to become your protector. This slender 
frame — 

Xucretia. What care I for the frame ; it's the treas- 
ure within I covet — the heart, Titus — the heart. 
Nothing shall tear me from you ! 

(Enter Susy, l., with candles^ which she places on 

table.) 

Turtle (aside). O, here's a situation. 

Susy (aside). I declare ! Making love ! I'll spoil 
that. (Aloud) Your lunch is ready — cold shoulder 
of mutton. 

Turtle (jumps up). O glorious signal of relief! 

Xucretia. O, Titus, you will not leave me in this 
delicious moment ? 

Turtle. For that delicious shoulder I must, Lucre- 
tia. My heart says stay ; my stomach says go. The 
mighty always conquer the weak. I'd offer thee this 
hand of mine, if I could — could — banish the cold 
shoulder, — if I could inhabit your airy castles. But 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 153 

look at my size ; look at my waist ! I cinnot feed on 
love. Farewell ; be happy with another ; I've not the 
least objection. I'll do the same; I'll be happy with 
another. (Aside) The cold shoulder. [Exit l. 

Lucretia. The wretch ! — the gourmand ! the — O ! 
desert me for a cold shoulder! — me, who has reposed 
upon his warm shoulder! O, I could cry — but I 
won't. I'll wander like a spectre amid the trees, bro- 
ken-hearted. So romantic. \_Exit through window. 

Susy. Now, I wonder where she's going at this 
time of night ? (Goes to window.) O my goodness ! 
There's Chips and that Naylor chap stripping off their 
coats out there in the pasture ! I do believe they're 
going to fight ! Chips ! Chips ! 

\_Exit through window, 

(Enter Phil, door l.) 

Phil. I cannot rest. When I close my eyes, the 
sleeping face of my wife comes before me as I saw it 
that night, as innocent in its expression as the child's 
that slept beside her. Have I been mistaken ? Have 
I all these years been fighting a demon of my own 
conjuring ? — all these years, with no confidant, blind- 
ly treading the path of error? This boy — with his 
chivalrous honor, makes me blush with shame. He 
loves her, esteems her, — she who was to him a stran- 
ger but a few short months ago ; — while I, with her 
life knit to mine by the tenderest tie, have blasted her 
name, made her a creature to be shunned, by my base 
desertion of her, — perhaps without cause. I'll not 
be hasty, but I will hear the story from her lips. 



154 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Perhaps — perhaps — O, Heavens ! if she is innocent 
■ — what am I ? A wretch too base to live. Let me 
not think of that. If she be innocent, how gladly would 
I die to clear her name {slowly crosses stage and exits 
through window, R.). 

Amos {outside). Hallo ! Susy ! Howard ! Mrs. Thorne ! 
{Enters c.) Well, well, well! The house deserted; 
nobody to welcome me, its master, when he brings 
such glorious tidings. Ah, here's some one at last. 

{Enter from window, Grace and Howard ; from 
r. 1 e. Hester.) 

Howard. Ah, father, welcome home {shakes hands). 

Amos. Well, how are you ? And my little painter 
friend ? {Shakes hands with Grace.) Mrs. Thorne, 
I'm glad to meet you again. {Shakes hands with her.) 

Hester. You must be tired and hungry. 

Amos. Hungry ? Why, I'm famishing ; and so is 
my horse. Howard, take care of him. 

Howard. At once, sir. {Exit c. Grace sits on 
lounge.) 

Hester {going to door l.). I will see that your 
supper is prepared. 

Amos. Not just yet. Mrs. Thorne, I have been 
absent in your interests. Are you not anxious to know 
the result? 

Hester. I am more anxious for your comfort, sir. I 
told you it were better to let the past rest. 

Amos. Yes ; three days ago you surprised me with 
the story of that past. I told you I would be your 
friend. I come to-night to surprise you. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 



155 



ago 



Hester. Surprise me ? 

Amos. Yes. Your daughter lives ! 

Hester. No, no, it is impossible ; she died years 
I learned it — 

Amos. From a newspaper report. It was a lie ; a 
forgery ; wrought by a cunning hand to keep you from 
your child. 

Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can it be ? Shall I see her 
again ? O, dear, dear friend, tell me all. 

Grace (rising). Your pardon ; you do not desire 
company, and I will — 

Amos. Stay where you are, Grace. This story may 
interest you, as showing to what extent villany may 
be carried by so unscrupulous a man as Alfred Thorpe. 

Hester. Alfred Thorpe ! 

Grace. My guardian ! 

Amos. Mrs. Thorne, the story of your wrongs made 
a deep impression upon me. I was quick to catch any 
suspicious circumstance, and from his own lips I gained 
the information that led me to believe he was the 
traitorous friend. 

Hester. He was ; he was. 

Amo:. Then his fat friend, Turtle, in an angry mo- 
ment gave me another hint, which I was not slow to 
take advantage of. I took the stage, and yesterday 
alighted at a pleasant little place forty miles from here, 
called Greenland. There I hunted up an old friend of 
your husband. From him I learned that your husband 
had left a child with him years ago ; gave it to him to 
be taken care of; to be given up if called for, — other- 
wise, to live and die as his child. From that day to 



156 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

this he has never seen the father ; but three years after, 
a man bearing an order came for the child and took it 
away. 

Hester. And that is all? 

Amos. ~No ; that is but the beginning. I traced the 
child to its new home ; traced the report of its death ; 
picked up straggling threads in the child's life ; the 
name of its father ; the name of the bearer of the 
order ; until I proved conclusively that your child is 
alive and well. 

Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can I find her ? can I clasp 
her in my arms ? 

Amos. Hester {taking her hand), as I believe in 
truth and justice, believe me, the words I am about to 
speak are the truth, truth beyond a doubt. The child 
that bore the name of Grace Thorne now bears the 
name of Grace Ingalls (goes down r.). 

Grace. O, mother, mother ! (Huns into Hester's 
arms.) 

Hester (clasping her in her arms). My child ! My 
dear, dear child ! 

Amos. Well, it strikes me that " rough country 
life " is looking up. 

Grace. O, I am so happy ! No earthly name -is so 
dear as that of " mother ! " 

Hestev. Save that of " child." Grace, my darling; I 
feel this must be a reality, — so much in your face that 
has attracted me grows into the likeness of the babe 
torn from me, that I cannot doubt. 

Grace. And I catch the same tenderness in your 
loving eyes that has been to me a blessed memory for 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 157 

years! O, mother, mother! there is so much love 
springing to new life in my heart, there is no room for 
doubt. 

Amos (crossing to door l., behind). Now, having 
satisfactorily reported the results of my journey, with 
your leave, ladies, I will now satisfy the cravings of my 
appetite. 

Hester. I will attend you, sir. 

Amos. No, no ; I will not interrupt you. 

Hester. Nay, I insist. You have been so kind to me, 
Mr. Gaylord — such a dear friend — (gives her hand) 
I know not how to recompense you. 

Amos. Well, suppose you give me a cup of tea. 
After you, madam. (Opens door, steps back and bows. 
Hester goes to door, then turns, stops a minute, runs 
c. and embraces Grace, then runs off door l. Amos, 
about to go, turns and looks at Grace.) 

Grace (runs and throws her arms about his neck). 
Heaven bless you, dear Mr. Gaylord ; you have made 
me very, very happy. 

Amos (kissing her forehead). Serves you right. 
(Aside) I'd like to be a second father to that girl. Ah, 
well, if I've made them happy, I must be content. 

\_JExit door l. 
Grace. Dear old man, how I love him ! That's a 
very proper sentiment too, for he's Howard's father ; 
and if — 

(Enter Thorpe, c.) 

Thorpe. Grace, — Grace, my darling (comes down 
r. with outstretched hands / she starts back to l.). 
Grace. Mr. Thorpe ! 



158 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Thorpe. Why this coldness ? Have they turned 
you against me ? Has my enforced absence shocked 
you ? I could not help it ; the sight of that man who 
has basely wronged me — 

Grace. Spare your apologies, I beg, Mr. Thorpe. 
You are master of your own actions. No one has been 
surprised at your absence. Why should I be ? 

Thorpe. Grace, you know how dear you are to me. 
No, I am wrong ; you cannot. I have watched you 
from childhood with all a father's care. You have 
grown into beautiful womanhood ; and with no pater- 
nal blood to check the feeling, a strong and tender love 
has taken the place of fatherly interest. Grace Ingalls, 
I love you with the one mighty passion of my life. 
Will you become my wife ? 

Grace. No, no ; do not press me. I owe you much ; 
my heart is filled with gratitude for your tender care. 

Thorpe. You have much cause to be grateful. I 
have freely lavished upon you wealth, and made you 
renowned. These should make you ponder well ere 
you refuse the boon I ask. 

Grace. Mr. Thorpe, when three days ago you 
broached this subject to my great surprise, I weighed 
well my duty and my inclination. I appreciate all 
your goodness ; thank you a thousand times for all 
your care ; and could I repay you — 

Thorpe. You can ; you must ; — with your love. 

Grace. Impossible. Within an hour my life has 
wondrously changed. Mr. Thorpe, I have often asked 
you to tell me of my parents — of my father. 

Thorpe. I have told you — he is dead. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 159 

Grace. And my mother ? 

Thorpe. She, too, is dead {aside) to you. 

Grace. And this, you tell me, is the truth ; on your 
honor ? 

Thorpe. On my honor. 

Grace. And you ask me to marry you ? Mr. 
Thorpe, with your words still ringing in my ears, I 
refer you to one who alone has the right to dispose of 
my hand. {Points to Hester, icho enters door l.) 
My mother. (Howard appears c.) 

Thorpe {starts and goes r.). Pier mother! {Aside) 
Whose fiendish work is this ? 

(Howard comes down; Grace takes his arm, and 
they pass off through window, r.) 

Hester. You hear, Alfred Thorpe : that girl, pure 
and innocent, calls me mother. 

Thorpe. She has no right. 

Hester. 'Tis useless to deny what can be fully proved. 
Every link in the chain of evidence, from the time you 
kidnapped my child, has been fully tested by Amos 
Gaylord. 

Thorpe. Amos Gaylord ? 

Hester. Yes; the man whom you sought to turn 
against me has outwitted you. With all your cun- 
ning, the honest, simple-hearted farmer has wrought 
the good work which gives the mother to her child 
again. 

Thorpe. And you triumph ! How ? You have 
snatched the girl from her home — a life of ease and 
luxury — i for what ? To share the hard fate of a sus- 
pected and despised woman. 



160 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Hester. Suspected ? Yes. Despised ? No. True, 
warm friends have gathered about me in my darkest 
hour. I am strong in mv own innocence, and shall 
live down the distrust which you alone have created. 
Ay, more, I stand between you and the woman you 
love. We have changed places, Alfred Thorpe, for I 
now have the power to make your life as miserable as 
you have made mine. 

Thorpe. But you will not. Hester, I love that girl ; 
dearly, madly love her. Give her to me. Let all 
that has passed be forgotten. I will make any repara- 
tion you may ask ; only give her to me. See (kneels), 
on my knees I ask this precious boon. 

Hester. On your knees — Ah ! (Phil, with his 
arms folded, his eyes on the ground as if in deep 
thought, enters from window r., and passes out 
through door c, Hester looking at him. Thorpe 
has his head bowed, and does not see him. Aside) Let 
me be firm. (Aloud) Alfred Thorpe — (Phil is just 
passing the window l. c. ; he starts, stops, and watches 
through window) — once, trembling in every limb, and 
with tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a 
confession to my husband. Are you now prepared to 
confess to me ? 

Thorpe (rising). What shall I confess ? 

Hester. The truth.* If you hope for my consent — 
if you hope for mercy hereafter — tell me, why have you 
so bitterly pursued me ? 

Thorpe. Because I loved you, Hester. I could not 
bear to see you the wife of that man, Philip Thorne. 
You chose him. From that moment I determined you 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 161 

should be mine. I would break the chain that bound 
you to him. 'Twas easily done : a few forged letters, 
a few startling situations, and the fool believed you 
guilty, and deserted you. 

Hester. Did I not spurn you from me, and treat 
with contempt your base proposals ? 

Thorpe. You did; and when I had succeeded in 
separating you from your husband, when I believed 
that you could be made to love me, having no protec- 
tor, I found I had deceived myself, and you were a 
pure and noble woman. O, Hester, I am a fool to let 
my tongue betray me now ; but on your words hangs 
my fate. I thought I loved you as I could never love 
another; but she who is now the image of what you 
once was has aroused a mightier passion in my breast, 
and the love which was once yours, a thousand-fold 
deepened, goes out to her, your daughter. 

Hester. And what reparation do you propose for 
me, the woman you have robbed of her husband, 
branded with suspicion, and degraded in the eyes of 
the world ? 

Thorpe. Ample, Hester. Grace my wife, our house 
is yours. Beneath my roof an honored guest, the past 
will be forgotten as an idle tale, and all the future filled 
with peace and happiness. 

Hester. And my husband ? 

Thorpe. Poor fool ! let him be forgotten. He never 
loved you. Think you that, had I been lifted to your 
love, I should have allowed suspicion to break my trust 
in you ? No, no ; he was no true man. Let him rest 
here among the hills. Weak in intellect, enfeebled 
11 



162 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

in body, he will soon pass away, and, like your wrongs, 
be as soon forgotten. 

Hester. And you ask me to give you ray daughter ? 
Alfred Thorpe, you are a villain ! The murderer who 
lifts his hand against his brother man is a hero, yea, a 
saint, compared with a coward who, like you, lifts his 
voice to sully a woman's reputation ! I'd rather see 
my child again lost to me — lost forever ! — than have 
her become the mate of such as you ! ( Crosses to e.) 

Thorpe. Yet I will have her ! Mark me, Hester, 
she shall be mine ! I have, stooped to you ; I will 
again, — but it shall be as the eagle stoops to seize 
its prey ! Remember, you are an outcast. The breath 
of suspicion, like the foul miasma, once it blasts the 
atmosphere about a woman, cannot easily be shaken 
off. You are weak and friendless ; I, strong and pow- 
erful. Once I set my schemes afoot, I pause not till I 
conquer. I will not now. I'll have your daughter. 
You may struggle and writhe, — proclaim your inno- 
cence, but who — who will believe you ? 

Phil (rushing on, c). I will — I, Philip Thorne. 
(Stands c, with right hand raised. Thoepe l. of c.) 
Right, Alfred Thorpe, he was no true man ; he was a 
fool. But now the light is breaking in on his weak 
intellect ; the clouds are lifting. Enfeebled in body ? 
Ha ! (Seizes Thoepe by throat with left hand.) Liar! 
But a few days ago, on a precipitous spur in yonder 
mountain, where but one could pass, I met a fierce and 
hungry bear, who clasped me in his arms. On the 
brink we struggled — he and I — in close embrace of 
life and death, my hand upon his throat, as now on 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 163 

yours, I drove my knife into his heart, and flung him 
to the abyss below. (Lifts Thorpe, and throws him 
with right hand, on stage.) Enfeebled — I ? Ha, ha, 
ha ! {Lifts his foot to trample on him.) 

(Enter from windoio r., Grace and Howard ; by door 
l., Amos. Hester runs up and places her hand on 
Phil's right shoulder.) 

Hester. Philip ! (Music, piano. Thorpe rises and 
goes to table.) 

Phil (looking at her steadily). Hester, innocent and 
wronged one, dare I look thee in the face again ? No, 
no; on my knees, at your feet — (about to kneel). 

Hester (raising him quickly). No, no, my husband ; 
all is forgotten, all forgiven. Take me to your arms; 
tell me you believe me — 

Phil (clasping her in his arms). Innocent! inno- 
cent ! My own dear wife ! (Music stops. Thorpe 
goes to door, c.) 

Thorpe (looking in). They've won the game and 
ruined me. But I held the reins for twelve long years! 
Let them remember that. ( Goes off l. ; stops at win- 
dow and shakes fist.) Remember that. \_JExit l. 

Hester. Dear Philip, that our union may be com- 
plete, look upon our daughter. Grace, my child, your 
father (steps to r.). 

Grace {running into Philip's arms). Father! 

Phil. My child ! The face did not deceive me ; it 
was Hester's — Hester's, as I knew it ere — 

Hester (goes to him on r.). Ere the clouds obscured 
it, Philip; but they've rolled away, and all is bright 
again. 



164 ' ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Phil. Wondrous bright. {Left arm about Grace, 
right arm about Hester ; looks first at one, then at the 
other.) The skies are clear, and the stars of love are 
shining on my path. 

Amos (r.). Mrs. Thorn e, we have beaten the enemy 
at last. 

Hester {gives hand). Thanks to you, dear, dear 
friend. 

Amos {crosses to Phil). Old boy, you're in luck 
{gives his hand). Your wife is a treasure; and your 
daughter — 

Howard {gives Phil his hand). An angel! Ah, 
Phil, you've truly found out the world is what we 
make it. I wish you joy. 

Amos. I almost envy you. I wish that daughter 
was mine. 

Howard. It will not be my fault if she is not, fa- 
ther. 

Amos. Hallo! Hallo! What do you mean, sir? 
(Grace gives her hand to Howard.) Ho, ho ! I un-* 
derstand. Town and country have found out the 
truth that they cannot live without each other. {All 
stand a little r. of c, near window, in a group talk- 
ing.) 

Susy {outside a). O dear! boo-hool— • {Crying.) 
It's a shame ! 

{Enter Susy, c, with her apron to her eyes.) 

Amos. Hallo, Susy! What's the matter ? 
Susy. O dear ! I — I — I — boo-hoo — think it's 
a shame — so it is. 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 165 

Amos. So do I, Susy, whatever it is. Who's been 
plaguing you ? 

Susy. Chips — and — and — boo-hoo, Mr. Nay — 
Nay — Naylor — been — been fighting just awful. 

Amos. Fighting ? What about ? 

Susy. Me, sir ! I — I — I tried to stop 'era, but 
— but — they wo — wo — wouldn't, and they' re all 
bru — bruised. 

(Enter Nat, c. / his clothes are torn ; his necktie hang- 
ing ; one eye blacked; one cheek puffed out / face 
scratched, and hair ruffled. Comes down r.) 

Nat. Upon the moonlit plain we met as foes : 

He blacked my eye — I flattened out his nose. 

Impromptu. Ahem ! 

{Enter Chips, c, in an equally forlorn condition, his 
nose bleeding, face scratched, &c. Both characters 
should present signs of having fought long and 
well.) 

Chips (coming down l.). Yes, darn you, you're a 
spunky chap, for all your loose rhymes. 

Amos. What does this mean ? Explain yourselves. 

Chips. I ain't got nothin' to say. I was jest goin' 
by- 

Susy. Now stop. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, 
Chips? (Amos goes back to group, e.) 

Chips. Don't care : he called me a booby. 

Nat. I withdraw the appellation, Chips. 

Susy. There ! Now shake hands and be friends. 

Chips. I don't want to. 



166 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Susy. You must. Come here, Mr. Nay lor. {Takes 
his hand and leads him over to Chips, l.) Now shake 
hands. Confess you have made fools of yourselves, and 
become friends. 

JVat (holds out his hand). I'm willing. 

Chip of a stubborn block, my dexter take — 
We will be friends — we will — 

Chips. O, 'nuff said, — shake. ( They shake hands.) 

(Enter Lucre ti a, r.) 

Lucretia. Has anybody seen my Titus ? 

(Miter Turtle from door l., a napkin about his neck, 
a huge slice of pie in one hand, and a piece of cheese 
in the other, eating. Turtle crosses stage; at the 
same time Grace goes to table c, and sits. Susy 
sits in arm-chair l., keeping up a dumb show ofco?i~ 
versation with Chips on her right and Nat on her 
left. Howard goes up to vase of flowers in the 
passage.) 

Turtle. Were you looking for me, Miss Lucretia ? 

Lucretia. Yes, Titus ; I was hungering for your 
society, thirsting for the music of your voice. 

Turtle. Hungering and thirsting. Now, that's true 
poetry — the language of the appetite. So was I. Ah, 
Lucretia, the cold shoulder has done its work. While 
it assuaged my appetite, it filled my soul with remorse 
(bites pie). Forgive me, Lucretia, I have awakened 
to a realizing sense of your virtues (bites cheese). It 
brought to my mind the time when I sat at your table 
and partook of a hot shoulder cooked by your own fair 



ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 167 

hands. It was luscious ! May I not hope that your 
fair hands may feed me — no, lead me — to many such 
feasts ? 

Lucretia. O Titus, we may be happy yet. So ro- 
mantic. 
(Phil stands r. c, with his arm about Hester's waist, 

looking off r. Moonlight on them. Amos comes doion 

c. Howard comes down to table, with flowers in his 

hand.) 

Amos. Well, Susy, are all your troubles over? 

Susy. Yes, father. Chips and I have made up our 
minds to — to — You tell him, Chips. 

Chips. O, certainly. Mr. Gaylord, I was telling 
Susy — no, Susy was telling me. Well, I'll come in 
and tell you to-morrow, — when I'm going by. 

Nat. When going by, he'll lift the latch, 

To let you know they've made a match. 

Impromptu. Ahem! 

Amos. Ha, ha ! I see. Well, I shall be at home. 
( Goes up c.) Phil, old fellow, why so silent ? 

Phil. For wonder. Amos, an hour ago, life was a 
dreary waste to me. How quick the change. There a 
daughter, and here a wife — the golden links of long 
ago put on again to bind me willing captive ! 

Hester. We are both to blame. Had we trusted 
in each other, all that has marred our lives we should 
have escaped. We have been taught the lesson of faith 
through trial and tribulation in the lost years. Re- 
united, we will take it to our hearts. Now all is bright 
again. 



168 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Phil. Bright as yonder peak, my home no longer. 
Hester, here in this bustling world below I'll rear again 
our happy home; and though the tempest has beaten 
about us, and darkness obscured our path, — • with con- 
fidence and trust to lead and guide, with strength and 
courage to subdue, we will journey on. The gloom 
dispersed, the shadows rolled away, the light of love 
upon our pathway, with Heaven's help we will tri- 
umphantly lift ourselves — Above the Clouds. 

Tablea.it. — Phil r. c, arm about Hester's waist, 
right hand pointing off through window / moonlight on 
them. Amos near door c, watching them. Grace 
seated at table, looking up «£ Howard, who stands back 
of table and places flowers in her hair. Susy in arm- 
chair l., with Chips leaning over it. Nat extreme l., 
with a pencil and note-book, scratching his head with 
pencil, as though trying to make a verse. Turtle and 
Lucretia extreme r., arm in arm, looking at Phil. 

[Music, and Slow Curtain."} 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE ? 



CHARACTERS. 

John Ready, President of the Excelsior Debating Club. 

James Rose, Secretary. 

Tom Slowboy, Treasurer. 

Sam Sly, 

Erank Wilson, 

Charley Boardman, 

Erank Black (colored), 

T T» t Debaters. 

Isaac Pearl, 

Percy Kimball, 

Norval Young, 

Mike Shea, 



Scene. — Room, President's Desk and Chair, c. Sec- 
retary, Table, and Chair, e. of Desk. Four Chairs 
e., and five Chairs l. The whole arranged in a 
semicircle back. 

{Enter e., John Ready, followed by Slowboy.) 

Heady. Treasury entirely empty, you say, Slow- 
boy ? 

Slowboy. Not a dollar, not the minutest particle of 

169 



170 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

scrip, not even that very small specimen of hard money 
— a nickel. 

Ready. Where has it gone ? It was only a month 
ago we collected the annual assessment. 

Slowboy. And it was only last week we had our 
great debate on " The Influence of Peace," in which 
our members became so much interested, that four 
panes of glass were broken, the looking-glass smashed, 
one chair received a broken back, and another had a 
compound fracture of one of its legs. Of course, all 
these little eccentricities of genius must be paid for ; 
and the treasury is empty. If this is one of the influ- 
ences of peace, we had better change the subject. 

Heady. The members were a little emphatic on 
that occasion ; but it was a glorious debate ; and the 
question, " Resolved, that Peace is the foundation of 
Prosperity," was carried before we broke up. 

Slowboy. Yes ; and 'twas the peace party broke up 
the furniture, and smashed the windows. 

Ready. Ah, Slowboy, I fear you bear malice ; for 
you, if I recollect aright, were one of the war party. 

Slowboy. My voice is still for war. 

Ready. We must find some way to fill the treasury. 
I fear the members will not stand taxation. 

Slowboy. With the storied memories of their plucky 
forefathers before them in this centennial year, I should 
say, not a cent. It must be raised by fines. The peace 
party have carried the day. Let us have peace. 

Ready. I do not understand you. 

Slowboy. My plan is very simple. We are con- 
stantly interrupted in debate. There's that Sam Sly, 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 171 

for instance. Heretofore you have tried to suppress 
the interruption with the remark, " The gentleman is 
out of order ; " whereupon the gentleman subsides until 
he feels like breaking out again. And they do break 
out often, especially Sly. Now, I propose to fine a 
member, for each and every interruption, five cents. 
Some of them will find it impossible to keep quiet; and 
our treasury will fill rapidly. 

Ready. That's quite an idea — if it can only be 
made to work. 

Slowboy. I think it can. And if we succeed, Sam 
Sly will pay dear for this night's debate. 

Heady. Sam Sly again. Slowboy, I fear you are 
malicious. Sly is one of our best debaters ; and be- 
cause you do not agree on all points — 

Slowboy {angrily). We agree on no point. He's a 
saucy, conceited chap, that's forever interrupting. I 
never attempted to declaim in school, but what he was 
at my elbow, with his insulting — 

Sly. ( Who has entered u., in time to be at Slow- 
boy's elbow.) Charcoal ! 

Slowboy. O, confound you ! here you are ! 

Sly. Yes, here I am, Slowboy, ready to be con- 
founded, if not convinced, by your arguments against 
mother suffrage. — Good evening, Mr. President. 

Heady. Good evening, Sam. Are the boys com- 

ing? 

Sly. Yes, sir, close at hand, 

" All saddled, all bridled, all fit for the fight." 

( They retire up, and stand at desk, talking together.) 



172 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

{Enter e., Isaac Peael and Feank Wilson, speaking 

as they enter.) 

Isaac. Lew Bunker caught him out on the fly. 
Frank. Ah ! What did he say to that ? ( They 
pass to l., and whisper together.) 

{Enter Peect Kimball and Chaeley Boaedman, 

speaking.) 

Percy. "Does your mother know you're out?" 
Charley. He said that — did he ? {They pass to l., 
and stand whispering together.) 

{Enter JsToeval Young and Mike Shea, speaking as 
they enter, followed by Feank Black.) 

JVbrval. Well done, brave archer. 

Mike. He was out on the fly. 

Black. Out on de fly ! Away wid yer nonsense. 
Dat ar Bunker can't fly — ain't got de wings. 

Mike. Aisy, will ye, Blackey? Don't I tell yez 
'twas a ball? 

Black. O, quit foolin'. Dey don't fly at a ball; dey 
dance — so. {Shuffles.) 

Mike. Out, ye heathen ! Til not disturb yer igno- 
rance. 

Beady. {Takes chair, and raps on table.) The 
meeting will please come to order. {All sit. Tom 
Slowboy, e., next table ; Isaac Peael, Feank Wil- 
son, next him ; Sam Sly, extreme e. ; Noeval Young, 
l., close by presidents desk ; then Mike Shea; Feank 
Black, extreme l.) In the absence of our secretary, 
with the minutes, it will be necessary — 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS tOTE ? l73 

James Hose {outside). Hold on a minute ! Here 
I am! 

{Enters r., with a pen behind his ear, a blank booh un- 
der his arm, and a roll of paper in his left hand. 
He drops the roll, stoops to pick it up, and the pen 
drops from his ear. Stoops for that, and drops the 
book ; picks up that, and places pen behind his ear, 
when he goes through the same performance again.) 

Slowboy, Seems to me the secretary is behind time ; 
he should be fined. 

Sly. Don't you see he is picking up the minutes he 
has lost. ( This just as the secretary is picking up his 
book a second time. All groan.) 

Sloioboy. Puns should be fined. 

Sly. You'd never find one, Slowboy. {All groan.) 

Heady {rapping). Order, gentlemen. {Secretary 
goes to his place.) The first business in order is the 
reading of the records of the last meeting. 

Sly {jumping up). I move, Mr. President, the 
reading be dispensed with. {Sits.) 

Slowboy {jumping up). Mr. President, I hope 
the motion will not prevail. {Sits.) 

Sly {rising). Mr. President, the records of our 
regular were read at our last special, when we voted 
to adjourn immediately after the reading. I don't see 
any necessity for reading them again at this time, 
unless the gentleman who objects is unable to under- 
stand them at one reading. {Sits.) 

Slowboy (jumping up). Mr. President, does Sam 
Sly mean — 



174 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

Ready {rapping). The gentleman is out of order. 
The calling of names is unparliamentary. Is the mo- 
tion to omit the reading seconded ? 

Frank. Second the motion. 

Sly. Question ! 

Slowboy. Mr. President — 

All. {Except Slowboy, president, and secretary?) 
Question! Question ! 

Black. Question afore de meetin'-house. 

Mike. O, hush yer pate ! Yez always howlin'. 

Ready. It is moved and seconded, that the read- 
ing of the records be dispensed with. All those in 
favor will manifest it by the usual sign. (All raise 
hands except Slowboy.) Contrary minded. (Slow- 
boy's hand up.) It is a vote. 

Black. { To Mike.) Dat ar feller jes like a mule. 

Mike. Always kickin' up. 

Sly {aside). Had him there. 

Ready. The meeting is open for business. 

Slowboy {jumping up). Mr. President. 

Ready. Mr. Slowboy. 

Slowboy. Mr. President, in view of the many in- 
terruptions by which the more orderly have been made 
to suffer, and in consequence of the low state of our 
treasury, I move, sir, that, during our deliberations and 
discussions this evening, any member interrupting 
another "in the orderly progress of debate, shall be 
fined for each and every offence the sum of five cents. 
{Sits. All groan.) 

Sly {rising). Mr. President. 

Ready. Mr. Sly. 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 175 

Sly. Mr. President, although I seldom agree with 
the views of the gentleman who has just made the mo- 
tion, finding those views in general to be cumbrous, 
old-fashioned, and unsuited to the progressive spirit 
which I trust animates our councils, yet, in this case, 
his motion is so manifestly in accord with the spirit 
of harmony and good order for which I have always 
been an ardent worker (Slowboy groans), that I has- 
ten, sir, to second the motion. 

Heady. It is moved and seconded, that any mem- 
ber interrupting another in the orderly progress of 
debate be fined for each and every offence the sum of 
five cents. The motion is before the meeting. 

Several. Question ! Question ! 

Heady. The question is called for. Those in favor 
of the motion will manifest it. {All up.) Contrary 
minded. It is a unanimous vote. Is there any further 
business to come before the meeting? {Pause.) We 
will then proceed with the debate. {Heads.) "Resolved, 
that the good of mankind, the purity of the ballot-box, 
and the interest of society, demand that our mothers 
shall vote." Mr. Isaac Pearl will open in the affirmative, 
Mr. Percy Kimball in the negative. {Sits.) 

Frank Wilson {rising). Mr. President, I move 
that the question be amended by the addition of grand- 
mothers. I don't think they should be slighted, and 
I've got a splendid one. 

Charley Boardman. I've got an aunt Hannah ; 
can't you put her in ? 

Mike- {jumping up). Troth, put in the coozens 
too. What could an Irishman do widout his coozens I 



176 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

Heady. Gentlemen, you are all entirely out of order. 

Slowboy {jumps up). Then fine them, Mr. Sec- 
retary, put down Wilson, Boardman, Shea, — 

Heady. Not quite so fast, Mr. Slowboy ; they have 
made no interruption. I should, have said the amend- 
ments were out of order, as the question for debate 
chosen at a previous meeting cannot be amended at a 
subsequent. Mr. Pearl, you have the floor. (Slow- 
boy sits.) 

Isaac Pearl (rising). Mr. President, this is an 
age of progress, and I think the Literary Debaters of 
this society in the selection of the resolution on which 
I have the honor to speak in the affirmative here, have 
shown a commendable spirit of enterprise, which will 
be rewarded with the grateful plaudits of a ransomed 
nation, when woman, granted her rights, shall wield 
with man an equal power in the government of this 
enlightened community. (Cries of "Good" "Good" 
and clapping of hands from those who speak in the 
affirmative.) 

Sloicboy (jumping up). Fines! Fines! Mr. Pres- 
ident, this is out of order. Put down Sly, and — 

Heady. Order, Mr. Slowboy. Judicious applause 
is always allowable in our debates. Sit down. (Slow- 
boy sits.) Go on, Mr. Pearl. 

Pearl. And who should have the first place in the 
moving march of reform ? Who are best fitted to 
have a voice in the government ? Who are heaven- 
born electors ? Our mothers, sir. Is not their first 
duty government ? Who govern us ? Who have 
governed the greatest men that ever lived ? Mothers. 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 177 

They teach our infant lips the language of our country. 
They lead our infant steps in the path of duty. They 
spur us on to excel, and guard our ways with good 
counsel. Give them the ballot, and their influence will 
make better laws. Give them the ballot, and the ward- 
room and the election-booths will be cleansed of cor- 
ruption. Give them the ballot, and society will be an 
ever-changing spectacle of wrongs crushed out, and 
reforms working goodness, purity, and peace, while 
justice, exalted to the highest place, shall ever crown 
the earnest worker with the laurels of victory. (Ap- 
plause, and cries of " Good?'' Pearl sits.) 

Black. (To Mike.) Dat's so. It jes take de bul- 
lets to crush up de spe'tacles, an — an — 

Mike. Whisht yer blarney. Ye's on the ither side. 

Heady. Mr. Percy Kimball has the floor. 

Percy (rising). Mr. President and Gentlemen, are 
we prepared to accept the views of the gentleman who 
has preceded me, and forever submit to petticoat gov- 
ernment? He has spoken eloquently, I admit ; but, 
sir, truth is above the vapid utterances of an impas- 
sioned harangue, which, I doubt not, has been carefully 
compiled from all the speeches of the last fifty years. 
What ! are we to be forever tied to our mothers? Are 
we to give up the bright anticipations of the future, 
when we are to have stiff-tailed coats and long-crowned 
beavers, and to cut loose from our mothers' apron- 
strings, and do just as we please ? (Applause, and 
cries of "Good" "Good," from the speakers on the 
negative^ 

Sly (rising). Mr. President — 
12 



178 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

Slowboy (jumping up). An interruption. Fine 
him, Mr. President. Mr. Secretary, put down Sam Sly 
live cents. 

Sly. Mr. President, I rise to a point of order. 

Heady. State your point, Mr. Sly. 

Sly. The gentleman who has the floor has intro- 
duced such wild fashions — stiff-crowned coats and 
long-tailed beavers — as to seriously affect the aspect 
of the question. I respectfully ask that he keep to the 
question. 

Heady. Your point is well taken, Mr. Sly., The 
speaker will be more careful in future. 

Slowboy. Ain't Sly going to be fined ? 

Heady. No, sir. He had a right to object. You, 
sir, were the interrupter, and must be fined. Mr. Sec- 
retary, fine Mr. Slowboy five cents. (Slowboy sits 
down in a huff.) 

Black. Dat are Slowboy, he's got no sense. 

Mike. Begorra, that's broight him to his five sinses, 
onyhow. 

Sly (aside). Had him there. 

Heady. Go on, Mr. Kimball. 

Percy. I should have said stiff-tailed coats and 
long-crowned beavers. No, no, — long-crowned coats 
and stiff-tailed beavers. No, no. Plague take it — 
they've put me out. No, Mr. President, I'm down on 
the Mother movement. Fair play is a jewel. Mothers 
govern us until we are free ; once free, 'tis Man's priv- 
ilege to govern them, and I am not in favor of giving 
up one iota of our manly privileges, when we get them. 
(Sits. Applause by the negative.) 



SHALL OUR. MOTHERS VOTE? 179 

Ready. Gentlemen, the question has been opened 
on both sides, and is now ready for general debate. 

All {jumping up). Mr. President — 

Ready {rapping). Order, gentlemen ; one at a time. 
Mr. Frank Wilson has the floor. {All sit but Frank.) 

Frank {speaks very fast). Mr. President, I'm in 
favor of mothers voting, 'cause I've got a mother, and 
she's smarter and better than any man that ever lived. 
She ain't going to be abused if I can help it. I'd like 
to know where us fellows would have been if we hadn't 
had any mothers ? Who's so kind as they are, who 
has a lot of cookies tucked away when we come home 
hungry — 

Slowboy {jumping up). What's cookies got to do 
with voting? 

Heady. Mr. Slowboy, you are out of order. Fine 
Slowboy five cents, Mr. Secretary. 

Slowboy. Mr. President, I've just as much right to 
object to cookies as Sly has to long-tailed hats. 

Heady. Mr. Sly rose on a point of order, and ad- 
dressed the chair; you interrupted the speaker; be 
seated. (Slowboy sits.) Go on, Mr. Wilson. 

Frank. Yes ; and I do like to know, when a fellow 
has the ear-ache, who knows just where to put her hand 
on something to stop it; and when a fellow gets a 
crack in the skull at base-ball, who knows where to 
find a piece of brown paper ; and when a fellow strikes 
his toe and comes home limping, who knows how to 
cure it up with Russia salve ? (Sly lakes a pin from 
his coat, passes his hand behind those next him, and at 
this point sticks it into Slowboy.) 



180 SHALL OUR MOTHEES VOTE? 

Slowboy {jumping up). O, O, O, confound you, 
Ike Pearl ! 

Ready. Mr. Slowboy, you are out of order. 

Slowboy. Well, I guess you'd be, with a big pin 
stuck into your arm ! 'Twas that Ike Pearl. 

Pearl {rising). Mr. President, I indignantly deny 
the charge. 

Slowboy. Well, I felt the charge, anyhow, right on 
my crazy bone. 

Ready. Be seated, sir. You are fined five cents. 
(Slowboy sits.) 

Frank. Yes, sir, Russia salve, "great Nature's 
balm." Why, our mothers; and I think if Uncle Sam 
had a few of them in the government, we shouldn't 
have the President with the ear-ache because so many 
office-seekers are hanging round it; nor so many 
cracked skulls on the battle-field ; nor so many broken 
toes when fellows run so fast for office. That's the 
sort of mother's boy I am ; and if something ain't done 
pretty quick, if they don't put our mothers in office and 
let 'em vote pretty soon, the country will go to smash, 
and the glorious bird of freedom go limping round 
with a cracked skull and a crushed toe, crying out, 
" Mother ! Mother ! " and there shall be no mother to 
console him! {Applause. He sits.) 

Mike. Be jabers, his fut's down on that. 

Black. Yes, indeed, he's a foe-mater. 

JSForval {jumping up). Mr. President — 

Ready. Mr. Young. 

JSForval. My name is Norval — 

Slowboy. O, pshaw ! this is no time for declamations. 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 181 

Ready. Mr. Secretary, fine Mr. Slowboy five cents 
for interruption. 

Slowboy. Mr. President, this is unjust. 

Heady. Those who make laws should submit to 
them. Mr. Young said his name was Norval. Has he 
made a misstatement ? — Be silent, sir. — Go on. 

JVbrval (with a theatrical air). My name is Norval 
— Young. You all know me. I am a boy ; but, sir, I 
scorn to utter such childish nonsense as has just pro- 
ceeded from the mouth of the gentleman who has pre- 
ceded me. He talks like a boy, like a boy who thinks 
the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the 
young sapling. I dare do all that may become a man: 
who dares do more is none. Get thee to a nunnery, 
or a nursery, thou valiant gentleman, who prattles so 
sillily of Russia salve, and brown paper, and cookies. 
Give mothers bonnets, not ballots. They are not fitted 
for the stern alarms of the political camp. I haven't 
got much to say on this question, for, like Othello, rude 
am I in speech, and little skilled in the set phrase of 
peace. But I am opposed to giving mothers the ballot. 
Let mothers be content to fit us for the political field; 
where, 

" Blow, winds, come, wrack! 
At least we'll die with harness on our back." 

Black. Hear dat! hear dat! Dat's a clincher. 
"Way up ! way up ! 

Mike. Yis, up the spout. — Mr. Prisident — 

Ready. Mr. Shea. 

3fike. Mr. Prisident, sir, yer honor, it is my priv- 
ilege to stand in this august confederacy of brave and 



182 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

inlightened deliberators, on the side av our female 
mithers. Sir Mr. Prisident, yer honor, in my opinion 
the ballot should be in the strongest hands : and haven't 
I a mither? To be sure I have. Don't yees all know 
her? Haven't yees all, wid ginerous heart, patronized 
her panut-stand ? To be sure yees have. An' me 
mither, Sir Mr. Prisident, yer honor, is the head av the 
house at home. She can knock me daddy down wid a 
broomstick before he can lift his arm to stav the im- 
pinding crisis. She's the spryest on the fut. Haven't 
I seen her chase the daddy from attic to cellar, and pin 
him in the coal-hole ; and he wid three minutes the 
start, too ? Don't she always bate him in a fistic en- 
counter ? An' as for strong lungs, whoop ! she can 
out-talk a regiment widout takin' breath. Would I 
go back on me mither ? Niver, Sir Mr. Prisident, yer 
honor; for didn't she tell me wid her own mitherly 
lips that if I said a word agin her having the ballot 
here to-night, she'd flay me alive whin I came home ? 
An', Sir Mr. Prisident, yer honor, me fray opinion is, 
that mithers should have the ballot. (Sits.) 

Charley Boardman (rises). Mr. President. 

Ready. Mr. Boardman. 

Charley. Mr. President, when a fellow comes here 
and tells us what his mother told him to say, and ain't 
got no opinion of his own, I think he'd better be sent 
home in quick order, to meet the punishment his cow- 
ardice merits. 

Mike (jumping up). What's that ? A coward — 
am I? 

Beady. Order, Mr. Shea. Secretary, fine Mr. Shea 
five cents for interruption. 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 183 

Slowboy. Good, good ! Serves him right. 

Heady. Also fine Mr. Slowboy five cents. 

Slowboy. Mr. President, I protest — 

Heady. Be silent, sir. — Go on, Mr. Boardman. 

Charley. I've no more to sny, Mr. President. But 
if the male Shea deems himself affronted by my allu- 
sion to the female Shea, I am ready to meet him on 
neutral ground behind the school-house. But let us 
have no she government. (Sits.) 

Sam Sly (rising). Mr. President — 

Sloioboy (rising) . Mr. President — 

Heady. Mr. Sly has the floor. 

Sloioboy. No, sir ; I rose first, and I demand my 
rights. 

Heady. I certainly heard Mr. Sly's voice first. 

Sloioboy. I will not be put down in this manner. 

Heady. Fine Mr. Slowboy five cents. 

Slowboy. This is unjust, sir. I demand a hearing. 

Heady. Fine Mr. Slowboy five cents again. 

Slowboy. But, sir, I rise to a point of order. I 
appeal from your decision. 

Heady. Mr. Slowboy appeals from the decision of 
the chair. Those in favor of sustaining the chair in its 
decision will please manifest it. (All up but Slowboy.) 
Contrary minded^ It is a unanimous vote. Mr. Slow- 
boy, be seated. Mr. Sly, you have the floor. 

Sly. Mr. President, I am very sorry to disappoint 
my young friend, and I willingly give way to allow 
hirn the floor. (Sits.) Had him there. 

Sloioboy (rising). Mr. President. 

Heady. Mr. Slowboy. 



184 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

Slowboy. I cannot be insensible to the kindness of 
the gentleman who has given way. If his politeness 
had come a little sooner it might have saved me some 
expense. Still I am obliged to him. 

Sly {rising and towing). Not at all, Mr. Slowboy. 
(Sits.) 

Slowboy (quickly). An interruption, Mr. President. 
Fine him. 

Heady. I decline to, sir, He very politely acknowl- 
edged your courtesy. If politeness is to be fined, you 
will have to introduce a new motion. 

Slowboy (aside). Confound him. (Aloud) Mr. Pres- 
ident, the question to-night is, Should mothers vote, or 
should they not vote ? I am opposed to any such vio- 
lation of the rights of men. Give mothers the right 
to vote, and at one fell swoop you overturn the pillars 
of state. Give them the right, and. they will possess 
themselves of the reins of government, and our halls 
of legislation would be turned into nurseries. Instead 
of the indignant protest of our carpet-bag senators, 
would be heard the wail of the infant. Instead of the 
chink of gold in our Custom-houses, the sound of the 
scrubbing-brush ; and courts and halls would echo with 
the scandal of sewing-circles and tea-fights. No, sir. 
Let us stand firm against any encroachments of our 
rights. Let us oppose the coming wave of change, 
drive back the onward charge of mothers' suffrage, and, 
with our backs against the rock of manly rights, cry, 
in the words of the psalmist, — 

i ' This rock shall flee 
From its firm base as soon as we." 
(Sits, Applause.) 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 185 

Black (rises). Mr. President, sar. 

Ready. One moment, Mr. Black. Mr. Sly has the 
floor. 

Sly. I give way to the gentleman of color, Mr. 
President. 

Black. Mr. President, sar, wh-wh-what all dis talk 
about mudder sufferings, hey? Does dis ole mudder 
suffer any more dan de boy she fotched up — I ax you ? 
Don't we git lammed and cuffed ? and are we agwine 
ter gib up our glorious heresy ob freedom jes when we 
got our cibbil rights — I ax you ? Wh-whose mudder 
suffers — I ax you ? Am she white, or am she black ? 
Wh-what she got to do wid de question upon dis meet- 
ing-house ? I wish de gemlem over de right and de 
gemlem over de left would stick to de question, — Shall 
mudders vote, or shall they not vote ? — not keep a 
bringin' ole mudder sufferings into de fight. I don't 
kere which side licks, as I ain't got no mudder, and 
nebber had none ; but I gwine in for unibersal freedom, 
and de Declaration of Independence, an' — an' de 
star-spangled banner, onto ebery school-house in de 
land, and de colored man on top ob de wood-pile. (Sits. 
Applause.) 

Sly (rising). Mr. President, so much has been said 
on both sides of this question, that my feeble voice 
need not be raised on this occasion. 

Slowboy. Then sit down. 

Heady. Order, gentlemen. One more fine for Mr. 
Slowboy. 

Sly. But, sir, I should be ungrateful to the mother 
that bore me, did I not pronounce her worthy to stand 



186 SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 

forth, clothed with the right to raise her voice and cast 
her vote in the government of our land. What has 
man accomplished for the good of mankind, the purity 
of the ballot-box, and the welfare of society, that 
woman, and foremost of all, our mothers, could not 
accomplish, but give them the opportunity ? What 
have they not done already? Ask the millions of 
heroes, who fought and bled for freedom, where 
they caught their first inspiration. They will tell 
you, at their mothers' knee. Ask the free and en- 
lightened voter, who taught him to carefully probe 
political questions, and pluck the wheat from the chaff. 
He will tell you 'twas a mother's, a wife's, or a sister's 
influence. Can any work prosper without their aid? 
Is not society purified by their presence ? Are they 
not in this new movement gathering to their aid the 
eloquence and energy of the best and noblest men ? 
Be just, be generous. Stand by the mothers, who al- 
ways stand by us ; who guard, and guide, and teach 
us. We knew none better in our youth ; we can choose 
none better when we reach the summit of a boy's am- 
bition — the right to vote. {/Sits. Applause.) 

Ready. Will any other gentleman speak on the 
question ? What is your pleasure ? 

Slowboy. I move we vote on the merits of the ques- 
tion. 

Sly. Second the motion. 

Heady. All in favor of adopting the resolution will 
manifest it in the usual manner. {All but those who 
speak in the negative vote.) Contrary minded. {Neg- 
atives vote.) It is a vote. 



SHALL OUR MOTHERS VOTE? 



187 



Black. Say, Mike, am she guilty, or am she not 
guilty ? 

Mike. O, whisht yer blarney ! 

Slowboy. Mr. President, I'd like to have the secre- 
tary read the list of fines. 

Bose (reads). Mike Shea, five cents ; Tom Slow- 
boy, forty cents. 

Slowboy. Darn it, just my luck ! 

Sly (rising). Mr. President. As our excellent treas- 
urer has, like other famed inventors, fallen under the 
axe of his own guillotine, let us be magnanimous. I 
confess, sir, I must be held answerable for one of his 
interruptions. I move, sir, that the fines imposed this 
evening be remitted. 

Shea (jumping up). Second the motion. 

Beady. It is moved and seconded that the fines im- 
posed this evening be remitted. Those in favor of the 
motion will manifest it. (All up.) Contrary minded. 
It is a vote. 

Sly. Mr. President, I move we now adjourn. 

JBoardman. Second the motion. 

Beady. It is moved and seconded we now adjourn. 
Those in favor will manifest it in the usual manner. 
(All up.) Contrary minded. It is a vote. 

Slowboy (coming doicri). Sam Sly, you're always 
in luck. I thought I had you on the fines. 

Sly. Did you, Slowboy ? Remember the old max- 
im, " Curses are like young chickens, and still come 
home to roost." \_J2xeunt. 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 



A FARCE. 



CHARACTERS. 

Dr. Rubber Dam, a Dentist. 

Orpheus Beethoven Joyful, a Musician. 

Christopher Croesus, a Nabob. 

Bob Ridley (better known as Dr. Ridley), a Colored Boy. 

Buskin Socks, an Amateur Tragedian. 

Larry Lanigan, an Irish Porter. 

Tin Wah, a Chinese Laundry-Man. 

Mrs. Morey, Dr. Dam's Landlady. 

Kate Crossus, Christopher's Daughter. 

Milly Morey, Mrs. Morey's Daughter. 



COSTUMES. 



Dr. Dam. Dark suit, with velvet breakfast-jacket. 
Joyful. Foppish dress. Light wig; light moustache. 
Crossus. Dark coat, white vest, light pants, white hat. Gray 

wig. 
Bob. Jacket and trousers ; curly wig ; black face. 
Socks. Dark clothes ; rolling collar ; coat buttoned at waist ; 

black gloves. Black wig ; short side-whiskers ; goatee. 
Larry. Rough suit. Red cropped wig. 
Tin Wah. Chinaman's suit, with pigtail. 
Mrs. Morey. Dark dress-cap, and spectacles. 
Kate. Handsome walking-dress. 
Milly. Neat morning- dress. 

189 



190 



PADDLE YOTJK, OWN CANOE. 



Sce^e. — De. Dam's Operating-room. Dental chair, 
with spittoon, l., near footlights. Folding screen at 
bach and side, e. of it. Opposite side, e., screen 
turned the other way. Door c. l. of door, against 
wall, cabinet of instruments. Small table, with 
chair, e. of c. 



H 




DF 



OF 



A Dental Chair. 
B Spittoon. 



C Screen. 
D Screen. 



E Table. 
FF Chairs. 



0bh 



G Centre Door. 
M Cabinet. 



Dr. Dam (seated at table, with memorandum-book 
and pencil in hand). Pshaw! one might as well stare 
at a blank wall as study this engagement-book. I must 
be patient, for there's no patient for me to-day. How 
can I fill my mouth with no mouths to fill ? How pull 
through, with no teeth to pull ? Give it up. I'm called 
pretty good on conundrums, but here's a stump. Mrs. 
Morey, my landlady, wants money : so do I ; and we 
are both likely to wait, in the present healthy state of 
human grinders in this locality. Hang it ! why was I 
not born a millionnaire, instead of being obliged to 
live from hand to mouth ? Ah, then I should be able 
to boldly face the divinity whom I meet every morning 
in my " constitutional " about the Park. Ah, she is a 
beauty ! she trips along so daintily, and smiles so sweet- 



PADDLE YOTJU OWN CANOE. 191 

ly when I lift my hat. Who is she ? There is an air 
of refinement, the speaking air of prosperity in her 
attire, — 

" Grace in her step, and heaven in her eye." 

Come, come, Rubber, this won't do. Rub her out 
of your day-dreams. There is not an aching tooth in 
her head to fill — the aching void in your heart too near 
those tempting lips. {Knock at door.) Come in. 

{Enter Mrs. Morey, c.) 

Mrs. Morey. Dr. Dam, I want my little bill. 

Dr. Haven't seen him, Mrs. Morey. If you want 
gome one to run an errand, I'll lend you Dr. Ridley — 
only he's not in yet. 

Mrs. Morey. It's not my precious William that I 
seek, doctor, and you know it. It's the little bill for 
rent that's troubling me. 

Dr. Don't let it, Mrs. Morey. Be a man ; bear mis- 
fortune bravely ; laugh at dull care, and whistle mer- 
rily. 

Mrs. Morey. Which means, whistle for my money. 
O, doctor, doctor, when I let you these elegant apart- 
ments for six dollars a week, fire and lights included, 
I didn't think you would cheat a lone widow of her 
dues. 

Dr. Don't, Mrs. Morey. You touch my heart ; my 
pocket, too. The first is full of compassion, the last of 
— nothing. I mean well; but, hang it, the business 
don't draw. Say no more ; £Ou shall have your money. 
{Takes out watch.) This is worth something; I'll go 
and pawn it at once. 



192 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Mrs. Morey. No, indeed, you shall not. I will 
wait a few days. 

Dr. {aside). That's a precious watch. It always 
brings her to time. {Aloud) Yes, but I insist on pay- 
ing you at once. 

Mrs. Morey. No, no ; it was your father's watch. 

Dr. It shall become my uncle's ; we'll thus keep it 
in the family. 

Mrs. Morey. No, no. I want the money to pay 
Milly's music-master ; he can wait. Poor child, how 
pale and sad she grows. 

Dr. Music doesn't agree with her. 

Milly {singing outside). " I'd offer thee this hand of 
mine, if I could love thee less." 

Mrs. M. She's always singing that, poor child ! Over 
the kitchen range, in the sink among the dishes, that 
sad, sweet song mingles with her domestic duties. 

Dr. Yes ; her voice has a wide range ; it rolls and 
swells with the rattle of her dishes, — a soprano, I 
should judge. 

Mrs. M. Ah, I shall never rear her; she's destined 
for an early grave. Love, doctor, love is devastating 
her youthful hopes. 

Dr. O, it's not so bad as that. Who is the object 
of her affections ? 

Mrs. M. 'Tis he who has cultivated her voice to 
seraphic song. 

Dr. O, the music-master ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, the music-master. He comes : she 
sighs and sings. He goes : she weeps, yet sings as 
sweetly as a dying swan. O, doctor, never mind the 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 193 

bill; come in and see Milly; perhaps your presence 
may cheer her ; perhaps divert her attention from this 
tuneful charmer with the falsetto voice. 

Dr. No, Mrs. Morey, I couldn't charm away the 
falsetto voice. If she was in love with a false set of 
teeth, I might be able to console her. 

Mrs. M. O, doctor, doctor, this is no jesting matter! 
But don't trouble yourself about the bill ; don't pawn 
your watch. I know you are poor, but I think you are 
an honest man. (Crcestjs opens door.) If you can- 
not pay the rent, I can wait. {Runs against Croesus, 
who enters.) Good gracious ! \_JExit c. 

Croesus. Take care ; take care, woman ! ( Comes 
down.) Confound her! she's nearly knocked the breath 
out of my body ! So, sir, you can't pay your rent ? 

Dr. Sir ! What's that to you ? 

Croesus. Hallo ! Hallo, young man ! Do you know 
who I am ? 

Dr. No ; and, what's more, I don't care. 

Croesus. I'm Christopher Croesus ! Ha ! you start ! 

Dr. Not a peg. 

Croesus. Rich, sir; enormously wealthy; million- 
naire, and all that sort of thing — but not proud ; no, 
no — not proud. Made it myself. Came to town 
a boy, barefooted ; stick with a small bundle — very 
small bundle — over my shoulder. Poor but honest 
parents — and all that sort of thing. 

Dr. That sort of thing's played out. I came the 
'same way, — minus the bundle. 

Croesus. It wasn't long before I had my carriage ! 

Dr. A hand-cart ? 
13 



194 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Croesus. Right"; it was. I peddled fish, devised a 
way to preserve them, made money, speculated, and 
here I am independent, sir, — independent! and all be- 
cause I paddled my own canoe ! 

Dr. Well, what of it ? 

Croesus. What of it ? It enables me to extend a 
helping hand to the unfortunate. You can't pay your 
rent. ( Takes out wallet.) I'll pay it for you. Come, 
how much is it ? 

Dr. More than you can pay ; because, like you, I 
purpose to paddle my own canoe. 

Croesus. That's right. I like your spunk. Now 
to business. You're a dentist ; pull teeth, and all that 
sort of thing ? 

Dr. Exactly ; that is my business. Take a seat 
there, and let me look into your mouth. 

Croesus. No, I thank you. No cold iron for me. 
My daughter, sir, Miss Kate Croesus, wants a tooth ex- 
tracted. She '11 be here in half an hour. 

Dr. Delighted to meet her. 

Croesus. No doubt of it ; but mind, no nonsense, 
young man. If she happens to have a pretty mouth, — 
and she has, — don't make too long a job of it, and don't 
fall in love with her. I won't have it — and I'm Chris- 
topher Croesus, I am. Do your duty like a man, and 
remember, no nonsense. [Exit c. 

Dr. Wei], the old gentleman seems anxious about 
his daughter. Rich, is he? He's worth knowing; 
but I do hope the daughter is a little more agreeable. 

Joyful {outside, sings). " O, where art thou now, my 
beloved ? " (Enters.) O, here you are, Rubber, the man 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 195 

I've been looking for. Rubber, give me joy ; fortune 
is about to smile upon me. I have seen the future 
mistress of my home — the wife of my bosom. (Sings.) 

" She wore a wreath of roses, 
The day when first we met." 

Dr. Hold on, Joyful. Who is the lady with the 
wreath of roses ? 

Joyful. The fairest of the fair. Now, who do you 
think? You cannot guess. It's the daughter of Chris- 
topher Croesus. 

Dr. Croesus? Why, he's just been here ! 

Joyful. I know it ; I sent him. Miss Kate is my 
pupil ; a charming girl, Rubber. Last night she spent 
a sleepless night with the toothache; this morning, 
visiting her for the purpose of giving her a lesson in 
music, and finding her still suffering, I suggested a visit 
to you. Old gentleman started off at once, and she's 
to follow. 

Dr. In half an hour? Joyful, I'm much obliged 
to you for speaking a good word for me. 

Joyful. Are you ? I'm glad of that ; one good turn 
deserves another ; and you can do me a great favor. 
Listen. One can't bend over a bewitching girl while 
her taper fingers are fingering the keys of a piano with- 
out feeling a tender interest in her — at least I can't. 
Rubber, I have come to love that girl to distraction. 

Dr. And she returns your love ? 

Joyful. Well, I think so. She's sighed a great deal 
of late ; it may have been the toothache, but I think 
she has a tender regard for me. 



196 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Dr. Why, her father 's a nabob ! 

Joyful. All the better, Rubber. 

Dr. Yes; but rich men don't throw away their 
daughters. 

Joyful. Throw away ! Rubber, you forget who I 
am. Orpheus Beethoven Joyful, Professor of Music! 

Dr. Yes, I know, — and a good fellow ; but music 
and money are generally found on different scales. 
Well, what can I do for you ? 

Joyful. You can find out for me if she loves me. 

Dr. You'd better find that out yourself. 

Joyful. No, there's too much at stake. Suppose I 
should confess my passion — be rejected. I lose my 
situation as music-master : don't you see ? 

Dr. I see that, but don't see how I can help you. 

Joyful. The easiest thing in the world. You ex- 
tract teeth. How ? 

Dr. With forceps. 

Joyful. Yes ; but you sometimes employ a subtle 
agent to tranquillize the victim. Gas. Under its influ- 
ence, the victim has been known to confess secrets ; 
don't you see ? You induce Miss Kate to inhale it ; 
she speaks, and you tell me what she says. If she 
loves me she'll be sure to speak, and I shall know my 
fate without the fear of making a mistake. 

Dr. A very ingenious plot, Joyful. 

Joyful. And you'll make use of it ? 

Dr. Yes; it can do no harm. But I must be off. 
Where can that boy of mine be? I've not had my 
breakfast, and only half an hour before Miss Kate 
makes her appearance! 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 



19T 



Joyful. Well, run and get it. I'll keep shop until 
you return. 

Dr. All right. {Goes behind screen n. ; changes 
coat.) 

Joyful. I shall know my fate. I am sure she loves 
me. {Enter De. from screen.) Make yourself easy, 
Rubber; I'm in no hurry. 

Dr. I'll not be gone long, and the boy will soon 
relieve you. \_JExit c. 

Joyful. Don't hurry yourself. What an easy life 
Rubber has here, pulling teeth. Why, a boy could do 
that. ( Goes to case and opens drawers,) Here's his 
forceps. I'd like to try my hand. (Bob Ridley sticks 
his head in at door c.) 

Dob. Say, Misser O. B. Joyful, whar — whar de boss ? 

Joyful. Hallo, Dr. Ridley ! you're late this morn- 
ing. 

Dob. Dat's a fac, Massa O. B. ( Comes dozen.) 'Spec 
de doctor jes pull his har wid wexation. 

Joyful. He'll be more likely to pull yours, if he can 
get a hold on it. ■ 

Dob {rubbing his head). Yah, yah, yah ! Guess 
not ; dar ain't no chance for a grab dar. It ain't de 
hand-some kind. Yah, yah! Say, Massa O. B., whar — 
whar your fiddle ? 

Joyful. At home, Doctor ; broke a string at the 
concert last night. 

Dob. Indeed did you? I wus to de consart las 
night ; dat's de reason I'se late dis yer mornin'. 

Joyful. Ah! What concert, Doctor? 

Dob.. Thomases in de back yard! Yah, yah, yah! 



198 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Jes kep me awake de whole night long wid der 
music! 

Joyful. Threw their whole soul into it, hey ? 

JBob. Yas indeed, till I frowed my ole boots ; den 
dar war a pair of soles into it — not whole ones 
n udder. 

Joyful. I suppose you understand the business of 
dentistry pretty well — don't you, Doctor ? 

JBob. Yas indeed; all de fundaments ov it. 

Joyful. Ah ! And what are the fundaments, Doctor ? 

JBob. Sweepin' de floors, and makin' de fires. 

Joyful. Ever drawn any ? 

Bob. How ? Yas, yas ; drawn my wages ebery 
Saturday night. 

Joyful. I mean, pulled anything ? 

Bob. Pull off de doctor's boots. 

Joyful. Where does he keep his gas ? 

Bob. In de observatory dar. 

Joyful. O, the laboratory, you mean. Do you know 
how to prepare it ? 

Bob. Guess I does ! Does you want a dose ? 
{Knock at the door.) Hallo, dar's a patient ! Whar's 
de doc' ? 

Joyful. Gone to breakfast. 

Bob. Den I'll jist send de patient off. 

Joyful. No, no ; let the patient in ; perhaps I can 
accommodate him. 

Bob. You? By golly! Well, I'll show him in. 
( Opens door.) 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 199 

(Enter Socks, tragically, holding his face.) 

Socks. " I do remember an apothecary, and some- 
where about here he did dwell." 

Bob. Yas, yas ; right down stairs, fust door to de 
left. 

Socks. "Ye secret, dark, and midnight hags, what 
is 't ye do ? " (Hand to face.) O ! 

Bob. How — wh-wh-who 's a hag? Dis am a inci- 
dental destitute. Pull all de teeth out ob yer head 
widout pain. 

Socks. " I have an aching tooth." O ! 

Joyful Take a seat, sir, and we'll soon haul it out. 

Socks. Thank you. Be very careful, sir, and take 
the right one. My teeth are precious pearls on which 
the footlights gleam. In Macbeth — you've seen my 
Macbeth ? 

Joyful. Never met him, sir. Is he in the medical 
profession ? 

Socks. Pshaw ! I'm an amateur actor, sir; a trage- 
dian. Macbeth is my masterpiece. I play it with my 
teeth thus. (Shows teeth set.) 

"Lay on, Macduff, 
And damned be he who first cries hold ! enough ! " 

Joyful. That is called tearing a passion to tatters, I 
suppose. 

Socks. You see, if you should accidentally remove 
one of those shining lights, you rob me of my props 
" whereby I live." O ! Be very careful, sir. (Sits in 
dental chair.) 



200 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Joyful {looking in mouth). I see it. Can you en- 
dure the pain ? 

Socks. " I can do all that may become a man ; who 
can do more is none." O ! 

Bob (aside). Yas, you wait till de iron gits a good 
hold ; den won't he holler? Yah, yah ! 

Joyful. We have an innocent preparation for dead- 
ening pain ; hadn't you better try it ? 

Socks. "Throw physic to the dogs. I'll none 
of it." 

Joyful. Very well, sir. ( Goes to case, and takes 
instrument.) (Aside) Now for my first experiment. 
(Comes down with forceps.) 

Socks. Hold on ; I'll try the painkiller. 

Joyful. All right. Bob, bring the gas. 

Bob. Yas indeed. (Aside) We'll see de fan now, 
sure you born ! ( Goes behind screen.) 

Socks. You are a regular practitioner, sir ? 

Joyful. Certainly. (Aside) On the violin. 

Socks. "I want no quack ! Out on you impostors ! 
Quack-salving, cheating mountebanks ; your skill 
Is to make sound men sick — and sick men kill." 

(Enter Bob from screen, with bag of gas.) 

Bob (aside). Yas ; well, I guess you'll be a pretty 
sick man afore your troubles are ober. 

Joyful (takes bag). Now, sir, if you will inhale this 
quietly, you will sink into a deep and blissful sleep. 
(Gives bag to Socks.) 

Socks. " Give me the cup ; I'll drain it ere I die." 

Bob. Will you, honey ? Well, I'll jes see de fun. 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 20*1 

( Goes behind screen r., and standing on a chair, peeps 
over top. Socks inhales gas from bag.) 

Joyful. He takes to it beautifully. I wish Rubber 
could witness this little operation, so easily performed 
by an amateur ; he'd not brag quite so much of his 
profession. Hallo, hallo ! 

Socks {starts up, and excitedly throws down bag, 
breathing heavily, eyes rolling, teeth set). Ha, ha, ha! 
{Steps off to c. of stage. Joyful runs behind screeyx l., 
creeps round and gets up into chair, looking over screen 
as Socks continues spouting tragically). 
I'm free ! I'm free ! Base tyrants, tremble ! 
This rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I. 
Here I devote your senate. I, Macbeth, 
Spit on your graves. Up, Freemen, up ! 
There's a lig-ht in the window for thee. 
Here I stand and scoff you ! 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are, and make 

your bondmen tremble ! 
Blow, wind ! Come, wrack ! 
At least we'll die with harness on our back. 
Hang out your banuers ! Ring the battle-cry! 
Vengeance and Liberty ! {Throws down chair.) 
Root, hog, or die! \_Exit c, stamping.'] (Bob and 
Joyful look across at each other over screen.) 

Joyful. Bob, he's gone without the operation ! 

Bob. Yas indeed. He didn't gas wnff a cent! 
( Comes from behind screen.) 

Joyful {gets out of chair). Well, he's out, if his 
tooth isn't. Ah! I should have extracted that molar 
beautifully, and shown Rubber how little knowledge is 
required in dentistry. 



202 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Lob {picks up rubber bag). Das a fac. [Knock at 
door.) Dar's anudder. 

Joyful. Show him in ; perhaps I shall have better 
luck this time. (Bob opens door.) 

(Enter Larry.) 

Larry (with a handkerchief tied over his face). Och, 
murther ! It's kilt I am intirely wid the toothache ! 
Is this a dedical docthor's, I dunno ? 

Joyful. This is a dentist's office. 

Larry. A dintist ? That's that ? Shure I wants 
a tooth-puller. 

Joyful. That is our business. What's the trouble? 

Larry. Throuble, is it ? Begorra, the throuble was 
last night at Biddy Flynn's wake, and all along of Pat 
Maloney ! Shure we were all jolly, whin Pat Maloney 
let fly a petaty, which same struck me full in the mouth, 
— the miserable spalpeen ! Begorra, it was a inshult 
to the mournful occasion ; an' — an' — my blood was 
up. So I just shtripped off me coat, and wid me iisht 
laid Misther Maloney sinseless on his back, crying 
murther ! It was an illegant shpread he made ! but he 
was soon up and kim at. me. Thin — we all became 
sociable. We put in the licks, and put out the lights"; 
the girls shcramed and the min fought, till poor Biddy 
Flynn, the corpse — who said niver a word — was 
complately buried under a pile of broken chairs and 
crockery ! 

Lob. Golly! regular jamboree! 

Joyful. Well, how did it conclude ? 

Larry. Conclude, is it ? Begorra, I dunno. But it 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 203 

• 
was an illegant fight, and my jaws ache wid the rattling 

I got ; an' one av my teeth is broken off intirely ; an' 
I'd thank you to be afther ridding me av the remain- 
der, for it's not a wink av slape I've had the night wid 
the aches in it. 

Joyful. Take a seat, and let me look at it. 

Larry. To be share I will. (Sits in chair.) Maybe 
yez might shtick it together wid a little plasther. 

Joyful {looks at tooth). No ; it's a bad fracture ; 
extraction is the only thing that will relieve you. 

Larry. Extraction, is it ? Shure you'd better pull 
it out, for it's distraction I'm sufferin' wid the jumpin' 
of the craythur. 

Joyful. Very well ; out it shall come. Will you 
inhale gas ? 

m Jjarry. Inhale ? fat's that ? 

Joyful. We give gas sometimes, to prevent the 
patient experiencing pain in the operation. 

Larry. Gas — is that what you're giving me ? Och, 
bother ! gas less, and pull more. 

Joyful. It will be much easier for you, if you allow 
me to give you something soothing. 

Larry. That's all right. Give me a little whiskey, 
thin. 

Joyful. You don't understand. I'll show you. Bob, 
bring the gas. 

Lob. Yas, sir; in de bag? Fotch it right away. 
( Goes behind screen. Joyful yets forceps.) 

Larry. Och, murther ! the craythur is just laping 
wid delight to come out av my mouth. Shure Pat 
Maloney shall pay the bill. 



204 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

» 

{Enter Bob with bag. Joyful comes down.) 

JBob. There you is, Misser Joyful. 

Joyful {takes bag). Now my man, put this to your 
mouth, and take a good pull. 

Larry {takes bag) . Whiskey in a bag ! Here 's 
illegance. {Inhales.) Shure that's no sperit ; it's swat- 
ened wind ! No matther ; it's a moighty foine taste. 
{Inhales.) 

Joyful. He takes to it readily — a fine subject. I 
think this will prove more successful than the last. 
(Larry breathes swiftly and loudly.) Ah ! it's taking 
effect. He will soon be unconscious. (Larry jumps 
to his feet, and throws down bag.) Sit down, my dear 
fellow. {Attempts to seat him. Larry sioings round 
his arm and upsets him on stage.) 

Larry. Whooh ! Whooh ! {Steps down from chair \ 
and strides up and down stage, swinging his arms.) 

Mob. By golly ! he 's got cle jimjams ! {Huns behind 
screen right, and appears over top as before. Joyful 
creeps round and gets into chair as before.) 

Larry. Whooh ! Whooh ! I'm the boy from Tippe- 
rary ! who'll thread on the tail av me coat? I'm jist 
spiling for a fight. Pat Maloney, you thaif av the 
wur-reld, will you thread on the tail av me coat? 
Whooh! whooh! I'm Larry Lannigan. Come on — 
come on ! {Fights the air with his fist.) All at a time, 
or one together. There, take that, you thaif; and that, 
you spalpeen ! {Fights and kicks.) I'm the game 
chicken of Tipperary. ( Throws down chair.) Whooh ! 
whooh! \_Fxit c. 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 205 

Bob. Tipper who ? Tipper who? Yas; tip ober 
de chairs — wid yer foolin'. 

Joyful. Another failure, Bob. 

Bob. Yas ; well, I guess de gas don't conflummerate 
wid dat ar feller. {Comes from behind screen, and 
picks up bag.) 

Joyful. Well, I shall have to give it up. But I did 
want to extract a molar. 

Bob. Did ye ? I fought ye wanted to pull a toof. 
{Knock at door.) An' dar's anudder, sure 's you born. 
Guess we'll let him go. 

Joyful. No, let him in ; I'm determined to pull 
something. (Bob goes to door ; opens it. Tin Wah 
appears with bitndle.) 

Bob. Why, no ; yes it am ; dat's Washee Washee. 
Tin Wah, whar you been ? 

Tin With {grinning). Heap busy — washee Melican 
man — heap cheatee — all same — dirty — bah ! 

Bob. Golly ! Tin Wah, hole your hush. De doc. 
taw am no dirty. Wh-wh-wh-what you mean? Gib 
me de bundle. 

Tin Wah. No ; brackee takee mussee muchee. 
{Bays bundle on table.) 

Bob. Yas indeedy, brackee mashee your molasses- 
colored profile, Tin Wah. Away, Chinaman, dis am 
no place for de headen. {Pushing him towards door.) 

Joyful. Hold on, Bob. I want to talk to him. 
{Aside) I wonder how the gas will affect him. {Aloud) 
Mr. Chinaman, do you like opium ? 

Tin Wah. Bely muchee ; Chinaman smokee. Mel- 
ican man smokee baccy ; makee Melican man happy ; 
Chinaman sickee. Bah ! no likee dat. 



206 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Joyful. Well, Tin Wah, I'll treat you. We've got 
the article you like, but not to smoke. I'll show you 
how the Melican man takes it. 

Tin Wah. Melican man bely kind. Chinaman takee 
and thankee bely much heap. 

Joyful. Well, take a seat. (Beads him to chair.) 
Bob, bring the bag. 

Bob. What's dat you say ? 

Joyful. Bring the gas. 

Tin ~Wah {jumping up). Gas ! Not muchee ; burn 
Chinaman. No like smellee. 

Joyful (pushing him back). It's all right, Tin. This 
is another kind — another name for your favorite. 

Bob. Golly ! he jes set Tin Wah crazy wid his non- 
sense. No matter; Til see de fun. 

\JExit behind screen. 

Tin. No cheatee ? 

Joyful. No, indeed. You'll like it. (Bob returns) 

Bob. Dar's a good dose. 

Joyful. Well, you give it to him, Bob. (Goes toi..) 

Bob. Speck I will. Here, Tin Wah, take hold, and 
hole yer nose ; hole yer nose. 

Tin (takes bag). Bely light; no muchee dare. 

Bob. Put yer mouf to de nozzle dar. ( Takes hold 
of Tin Wah's nose.) Now gib a whiff — gib a whiff. 
(Tin inhales.) 

Tin (pulling it away). Bely good. Ki yi ! 

Bob. Whiff away — whiff away; you don't git de 
flavor yet. (Tin inhales with much seeming gratifica- 
tion, throwing out his arms and kicking.) Dat's it — 
dat's it ; he 's getting naturalized ! 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 207 

Tin [snatches away bag, holding it by nozzle). Ki yi ! 
Yah, Melican man muchee fine — muchee jolly. Ki 
yi ! [Strikes Bob on head with bag. Bob falls on 
stage ; Tin Wah dances about, swinging bag.) Melican 
man fool! Blackee all the same so. Ki yi! (Bob 
attempts to get up, Tin strikes him on head / he falls 
again.) 

Bob. Das a fac. Lef me up ; lef me up. 

Tin {dancing about stage). Tin Wah drunkee — 
heap jolly. No washee — washee ! Hi yah ! Bustee, 
Bobee, bustee brackee head ! ( Chases Bob about stage 
with bag, striking him,.) 

Bob. Quit, you fool! Quit, you fool ! 

Tin. Ki yi ! Chinaman Empeler now ! No washee, 
no slave — Ki yi ! ki yi ! {Flings bag at Bob, and 
runs out c.) 

Joyful. Well, that experiment broke down. 

Bob. Yas ; and de roof ob my head 's broke down 
clear to smash. Misser Joyful, you may be a good 
phusican, but if you attempt any more dentistery, just 
luff me out ob de peppergram. 

Joyful. Well, Bob, I'm sorry for you ; but I meant 
well. 

Bob. Yas indeed, it was too much mean, das a fac. 

{Enter De. Dam, c.) 

Dr. Well, Joyful, here I am. ( Goes behind screen, 
and changes coat for velvet jacket.) 

Joy fid {to Bob). Not a word about visitors, Bob. 

Bob. No; dey didn't leave no word; dey left dem- 
selves. {Goes to case, takes a piece of wash-leather, 
and rubs instruments. Dr. appears.) 



208 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Dr. Nothing stirring, I suppose, since I've been 
gone ? 

Joyful. No, nothing worth mentioning. 

Dob {aside). Dat ar Chinaman stirred me; dat's 
wuff mention, I speck. (Knock at door.) 

Dr. Ah ! that must be my new patient. 

Joyful. If it is, remember your promise, Rubber. 
I'll step aside. ( Goes behind screen, l.) 

Dob (aside). Yas ; he wants to see de fun now. 

Dr. Why don't you go to the door, Doctor? 

Dob. Yas indeed, I 's going. ( Opens door.) 

(Enter Kate.) 

Kate. Is the doctor in ? 

Dr. (aside). My divinity, by all that's glorious! 
(Aloud) He is, Miss Crcesus. Take a seat. 

Kate. You — Dr. Dam ? Well, I am surprised, but 
very glad indeed, for I believe we have a slight ac- 
quaintance. (Bob returns to his work.) 

Dob (aside). Pretty as a sunflower! 

Dr. O, yes, we've often met. Your father called 
this morning. If you will take a seat, I will look at 
the tooth. 

Kate (sits in dentist's chair). Don't hurt me, please. 

Dr. No more than is necessary. (Examines tooth.) 

Dob (aside). Dat's what I call hovering ober an 

abyss ob bliss. (Sings.) 

" Monkey married de baboon's sister, 
Smacked his lips, and den he kissed her." 

Dr. Doctor ! 

Dob. Ax your pardon. I wa — wa — was dreaming. 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 209 

Dr. That tooth must come out. 

Kate. O dear ! Can you take it out without pain- 
ing me ? 

Dr. Certainly, if you will consent to inhale the gas. 

Kate. But I don't like to do that. Is there no other 
way ? 

Dr. Not without pain. You have nothing to fear. 
If you will step down, I will give you a proof. — Doc- 
tor, ask Miss Milly to step here a moment. (Kate 
steps from chair, and sits by table.) 

Dob. Yas, sar ; d'rectly, sar. \_Exit c. 

Dr. A young friend of mine, the daughter of my 
landlady, often inhales it for amusement. She will no 
doubt consent to show vou how harmless are its effects. 

Kate. You must have a great deal of practice, doc- 
tor : such a pretty office ! 

Dr. Well, as to practice, I am a new-comer here, 
and not kept as busy as I would like to be. At pres- 
ent I live on hope. 

Kate. Nourishing food to one who has an object 
for ambition to secure ! 

Dr. Well, I have an object, far above me, that I 
sigh to gain. 

Kate. Be bold, and it is yours. To a young man 
who has talents, good principles, and courage, no prize 
the world can offer is above his reach. 

Dr. Even if he be poor in purse — 

Kate. Poverty is nothing: it maybe yours to-day 
and mine to-morrow. For my part, had I suitors, I 
should regard the poorest with the most satisfaction, 
with an eye to what the future might have in store for 
him. 14 



210 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Joyful (who is behind screen, looking down upon them, 
aside). Good! That means me. She's mine! she's 
mine ! 

{Enter Bob, a, followed by Millt.) 

Bob. Here she am, doctor! 

Milly. Do you want me, Dr. Dam ? 

Dr. If you can spare time, I should like you to 
show this young lady, — Miss Morey, Miss Croesus 
{ladies acknowledge), — who is a little timid, how harm- 
less is the gas we give. 

Milly. Certainly. You know I like it. (Sits in 
chair. Dr. goes behind screen, l.) There's not the 
least danger, Miss Croesus. It makes me very, very 
happy, and without it I am miserable. 

Bob (aside). Tas, she'd take forty-leben gallons 
afore breakfas', an', like de little childen, cry for more. 

(Enter Dr., with bag.) 

Br. Now, Milly. ( Giving bag.) 

Milly. I'm sure I shall talk nonsense ; you know I 
always do. (Inhales gas. De. holds bag.) 

Br. No matter; you are doing a kindness, Milly. 

Milly (inhales, then drops bag, clasps her hands). O, 
how happy > — happy I am! O, now I see you — Or- 
pheus — Beethoven — Joyful! Musical name! You 
smile upon me ! You love me ! Tell me again, and 
again, and again, you love me, as I have loved you — 
ever, and ever, and ever so long. 

Joyful (aside). Hullo! I've made a conquest there! 

Milly. We walk together — we clasp hands — your 
arm glides about my waist. Your lips — your lips — 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 



211 



your — lips — (sto])s, sighs, and then looks round). 
Well, that's over. Did I talk nonsense? 

Dr. No, indeed. Had I been the object of your 
thoughts, I should have been glad I overheard such a 
confession. {Aside) I wonder how Joyful will take 
that. {Goes behind screen with bag. Milly steps 
from chair.) 

Kate. You mentioned in your dreams a name with 
which I am familiar — Mr. Joyful. 

Milly. Do you know him? Isn't he splendid ! 

Kate. O, well — so-so. He's my music-master. 

Milly. And mine (sighs). And I think he's just 
splendid ! And so I spoke his name? Well, I couldn't 
say too much in his praise — no more than I would say 
to his face — if he ever gives me a chance. But that's 
not likely (sighs). Good morning, Miss Croesus. 

[Exit c. 

Kate. Good morning. — Splendid, indeed! He's 
not to be compared to this neighbor of hers. {Enter 
Dr. from screen, with bag.) O dear! it's my turn 
now. 

Dr. Now, Miss Croesus, if you will take the chair 
once more, we will release the offending member from 
his allegiance. (Kate sits in chair.) You see, it is 
harmless. ( Takes forceps from drawer, and comes 
down to chair.) 

Kate. ' Which ? (Pointing to forceps.) 

Dr. Both — one with the help of the other. Now, 
if you please. (Gives bag. 'She inhales.) 

Dob. Golly! dat's fus-rate. De next thing she 
knows she won't know nuffin. 



212 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Joyful {sticking his head over screen). Now is the 
auspicious moment of my life. I tremble while I hope. 
(Dr. takes away bag.) 

Kate. Hush — hush ! How quiet — what beautiful 
trees — how bright the sun shines here ! Ah, there he 
is — the stranger — I love to meet. He lifts his hat 
— what a pleasant smile — a noble face. Why do 
you pass on ? — Because I am rich ? — Never fear. — 
Hearts are nob weighed like money-bags. Do not fear 
me. I long to know you — for I love you — yes, love 
you. (Seizes the doctor's hand.) Why don't you speak 
to me ? 

Joyful {aside). Confound it! she's got the wrong 
man. (Aloud) Rubber! Rubber! 

Bob. Luf her be. She don't need no rubbin' : she 
ain't rheumatic. 

Dr. I do not dare. I am a poor man. (Enter 
Crcesus, c.) Your father would not listen to me were 
I to ask an introduction. 

Kate. Do not fear — I love you — I love you ! 

Dr. (aside). I did not dream of this. (Aloud). 
Forget me. Your father has trusted me, and I will not 
betray his confidence. 

Kate. Fathers have flinty hearts — hearts — hearts. 
(Sits still a moment, then rubs her eyes.) Well, is it 
out? 

Dr. Pardon me. I was so interested in your speech 
I forgot my business. I will procure more gas. 

Croesus (coming doion). ~No you won't, sir. There's 
been too much gas wasted here already. How dare 
you, sir — how dare you put my daughter in such a 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 



213 



degrading position ? How dare you tell her you love 
her? 

Kate. Indeed! What have I done? 

Joyful (aside). Upset my apple-cart. No matter, 
I know where I'm wanted. (Gets down, and goes 
out a). 

Dr. Your pardon, Mr. Croesus. What your daugh- 
ter has said, under the influence of my special agent, 
would never have been known. You alone are to 
blame for divulging the secrets of my dental apart- 
ment. 

Croesus. And do you mean to say that you would 
not take advantage of her confession to try to win her? 

Dr. As I am a gentleman, no, sir. When your 
daughter leaves this place, we are strangers as before. 

Croesus. No, sir ; you are no longer strangers. — 
Kate, this gentleman — Dr. Dam — I present to you 
as a suitor for your hand. He has my full permission 
to win you if he can; and if he's the dentist he's 
cracked up to be, there'll be a Rubber Dam over your 
mouth before you're a day older. Now don't talk. 
Have that tooth out at once. 

Kate. Not to-day, father. I'll come another day. 

Croesus. I'll be bound you will. 

(Enter Joyful with Milly on his arm.) 

Joyful. Give me joy, Rubber. I've found the future 

partner of my joys. 

Dr. How's this, Joyful? I thought — 

Joyful. No matter what you thought, Rubber. It's 

all right. I'm satisfied, and you ought to be. 



214 PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Croesus. "Why, that's Joyful, your music-master, 
Kate. 

Bob. Dat's him — O. B. Joyful; plays on to de 
fiddle — 

Dr. Doctor ! 

Bob. Dat's me — Doctor Ridley. {Sings) "O, old 
Ridley, O ! " Must sing on dis joyful occasion. 

Barry, "j . , ( Be jabers, where is he? 

Tin. \. ,, -< Melican doctor! Hi-yah! 

( together. )„-.,.. 
Socks, j { Set him before my face. 

(All enter together.) 

Dr. Hullo! What's the matter? 

Barry. Me tooth, be jabers ! C 

m. M v i ' , j (All start towards 

lin. Melican man neap cheatee/ -l v 

Socks. " I am undone, undone ! " ( "' 

Bob, r. Be gorry, dar's gwine to be trouble ! 

Dr. (stepping before Joyful). Stop this, and ex- 
plain. 

Joyful. Perhaps I'd better, Rubber. These are 
patients of yours, whom in your absence I attempted to 
operate upon. — Gentlemen, it's all a mistake. The 
real doctor has arrived, and will attend to your aches. 

Socks. Dastard, you sent me flying through the 
streets like a madman. Me, the star of the amateur 
firmament, went shooting down stairs. 

Bob. Ob course, ob course. You was a shooting- 
star, dat's all. 

Barry. And me, be jabers, onto the fisht of a 
butcher, who broke me other jaw wid his fisht. Be- 
gorra, I'll have satisfaction, so I will. 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 



215 



Bob. Dat's so. Somebody tread on de tail ob his 
coat. 

Tin. Bah ! Chinaman smashee windee ; fall in the 
mud ; muddv all ober he. Bah ! 

Bob. By. golly! den Tin Wah was nowhar. 

Dr. You shall all have satisfaction — at another 
time. So, Joyful, you thought dentistry was easy 
work ? 

Joyful. And found myself mistaken. But I've 
learned one thing — that both in dentistry and wooing 
there's a deal of gas used. 

Dr. Have you ? Well, there's one thing more you 
can learn. 

Joyful. What is that? 

Dr. Never to meddle with edged tools. And still 
another — 

Joyful. Well, let's have it all. 

Dr. Never seek assistance in a love affair; but take 
my motto — Paddle your own canoe. 





Situations. 




r. Bob, 


c. Crcesus. 


Ka.te, l, 


Tin, 




Dr., 


Socks, 




MlLLT, 


Larry. 




Joyful. 



ONE HUKDEED TEAES AGO; 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 



A PATRIOTIC DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. 



CHARACTERS. 

Obed Sterling, a Quaker. 

Ephkaim Sterling, bis Son. 

Elmer Granger, a Young Patriot. 

Uriel Bosworth, a Quaker Convert. 

Pretzel, a Dutchman. 

Ginger, a Negro. 

Burke, / 

Blucher, S 

Rachel Sterling, the Quaker Mother. 

Ruth Sterling, her Daughter. 

Prudence Granger, Elmer's Sister. 

The scene of the drama is near Philadelphia, July 4, 1776. 



Tories. 



COSTUMES. 

Obed. Black, "brown, or gray Quaker suit; white hair, parted 
in centre; long stockings, to match suit; plain black shoes; 
broad-brimmed bat* 

Bosworth and Ephraim. Quaker suits of same character, but 
differing in color or in the color of stockings. Bosworth has 
black hair, "parted in middle ; Ephraim a very light wig, parted 
in the middle, with hair slightly curly at ends. 

217 



218 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Elmer. Neat suit of continental fashion; brown coat; buff vest; 

white necktie; brown breeches; blue stockings; shoes with 

buckles; cocked hat. 
Pretzel. Brown trunks, or full trousers fastened at the knee; 

blue stockings; short brown coat; small Dutch cap, or knit 

woollen cap with tassel at end. 
Ginger. Gray breeches; red stockings; blue striped shirt; red 

waistcoat, open; grizzled wig; heavy shoes. 
Blucher and Burke. Brown coats;' red waistcoats; dark 

breeches; brown or gray stockings; shoes without buckles. 
Mrs. Sterling. Gray dress; white kerchief, neatly pinned 

across bosom ; Quaker cap. 
Ruth. Brown or gray dress, opening in front, showing white 

skirt, rather short; long sleeves; high neck; white hose, and 

black shoes; hair light, in Grecian knot. 
Prudence. Short patch petticoat, with looped overskirt and 

waist of red material; sleeves rolled up in first act, and apron 

on; hair done up high with large comb; sleeves turned down 

for second act. 

The Quaker costumes may be hard to obtain, biit can easily be 
manufactured. For hats, cover wide-rimmed straw hats with 
brown or gray cambric, "wrong-side" out. For coats, "stand 
up" the collars of any old-fashioned dark coats, to give a prim 
and stiff appearance. The balance can easily be obtained. Guns 
used in this piece should have the appearance of flint-locks. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

r., right; c, centre; l., left; l c, left centre; r. c, right cen- 
tre; l. 1 e., left first entrance; r. 1e., right first entrance; flat, 
scene at back of stage; r. u. e., right upper entrance. 




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ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

OR, 

OUR BOYS OF 1776. 



A PATRIOTIC DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. 

Act I. — Morning. Kitchen in Obed Sterling's house. 
Door in flat r. c. Window in flat l. c, with muslin 
curtain draped. Fireplace r., with fire burning, and 
teakettle hanging on crane. Door or entrance l. 1 e., 
r. 1 e., and r. u. e. Settle r., behveen fire and 
door. (If this cannot be easily procured, form one 
by placing two ivooden chairs side by side, and cover 
ivith cotton cloth.) l. c, near window, tub on ivooden 
bench, partly filled with suds and white clothes, dish 
of soft soap on bench, clothes-basket and pail on 
floor beside tub. Table l., against scene, chair r. of 
it. Add any old-fashioned things, such as spinning- 
wheel, churn, <Jbc, that may be procurable, and place 
out of the way at r. or l. As the curtain rises, 
drum and fife are heard playing " Yankee Doodle " 
' outside, gradually dying away in the distance. Pru- 
dence discovered at window, holding back curtain, 
and looking out. 

219 



220 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Prudence. There they go. Bless their true, loyal 
hearts ! I wish King George could only see them. He'd 
need but one look at their stout forms and brave faces to 
teach him that all the Stamp Acts in creation couldn't 
stamp out the grit that' s ground into every mother's son 
that has rolled in this rugged soil. (Turns to tub, and 
washes briskly.) I'm glad to see this sojering here. It 
did look for a while as though the Tories were going to 
have it all their own way ; but the patriots have woke 
up, and I reckon there'll be lively times here. It takes 
me right back to dear old Concord, and the day the 
British came up to surprise us. The drum and fife 
played to some purpose then. They came and found us 
ready, and the getting back a pesky sight harder than 
the coming. It was a sad day for us. Father fell 
among the first. Our old house was burned to the 
ground ; and mother (it sickens me to think of it) was 
butchered by a coward. And, but for nry brave brother, 
I — I — (Puts hands to her eyes.) Dear me ! I've 
filled my eyes with suds. I won't think of that fearful 
scene. Many homes must be blasted before the tyrant 
can be made to feel he is powerless to enslave a people 
roused to a sense of their wrongs. Come, Prudence, 
chirk up. There's bluing enough in your tub ; so 
don't you get the blues. (Sings air " Yankee 
Doodle.") 

" Father and I went down to camp, 
Along of Capt. Tooding; 
And there we saw the men and boys, 
As thick as hasty pudding." 

(Enter Pretzel door in flat, with pipe in his mouth; 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 221 

leans against door-post, and smokes while she is sing- 
ing the chorus.) 

" Yankee doodle, keep it up, 
Yankee doodle dandy; 
>lind the music and the steps, 
And with the girls he handy." 

Pretzel. Yaw, dot is goot. Miss Prudence, vash 
you dare ? 

Prudence. Yes, Mr. Pretzel, I ivash here. 

Pretzel. Yaw. I hear you sing sometings. You hear 
der droms and der fifes ven der play 'long mit der 
music ? 

Prudence. Hear them? I should think so. That 
tune should wake the spirit of every man who loves his 
country. 

Pretzel. Yaw, dot is so. It vake me right up from 
mine shleep, and I feel so mad dot I moost do some- 
tings right avay pretty quick. 

Prudence. For your countiy? You have a noble 
spirit, Mr. Pretzel. 

Pretzel. Yaw, spirit is goot. I moost do sometings : 
so I call mine man Yawcup to go right avay and get 
me — 

Prudence. Your gun. I see, noble Pretzel. 

Pretzel. Right avay down cellar, and draw mine 
peer. 

Prudence. Pshaw ! 3-ou've got no patriotism. 

Pretzel. Batriotism. I donno vhat you mean by 
dot ; but I be got der pest peer — 

Prudence. Is this the time to think of beer? 

Pretzel. Yaw, der ish no time dot ever vas to come 
pefore dot I do not tink of mine peer. 



222 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Prudence. 'Tis out of place now. 

Pretzel. Nein : 'tis in der keg onder de stairs, first 
on der right as } t ou go town mit der left. 

Prudence. I don't want to hear any more about 
your beer. • - 

Pretzel. Yaw. Veil, I haf else sometings dot will 
blease } r ou {sits on settle) , — sometings dot make me 
so shtupid dot I can't shut mine eyes vhen I haf gone 
to shleep mit mine ped. Dot is you, fraulein. I loaf 
3 7 ou. 

Prudence {ivith clothes in her hands, starts hack : very 
loud). What? 

Pretzel. Yaw. I loaf you petter dan sourkraut, 
petter dan mine peer. Ven I tink of you mit your 
pright eyes, my heart joomp right out of mine mout, 
and peats droomsticks mit my posom. 

Prudence {snapping her teeth, and wringing out a 
sheet). It does, does it? 

Pretzel. Yaw. So I get run ofer from mine house 
to get you for mine frau. So you comes mit me, and 
be mine frau, and you shall vash all der day mit your 
tub, — all mine close dot never haf peen vashed at all 
some more. 

Prudence {who has twisted a wet sheet into a weapon) . 
Mr. Pretzel, do you see that door? 

Pretzel {looks round at door without rising) . Yaw ; 
dot is a goot toor. 

Prudence {comes down stage) . Then instantly take 
yourself outside of it. 

Pretzel. Mit you, fraulein? 

Prudence {strikes pipe from his mouth with her 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 223 

weapon). Never, you mean, contemptible, cowardly 
Dutchman ! 

Pretzel (Jumping up). Vhat for you smash mine 
pipe ? You vant to proke mine heart mit }'our non- 
sense? 

Prudence. I'll break your head if you're not out of 
this house quick. {Flourishing her weapon.) Go! 

Pretzel. Keep avay ! I'll bring you tamages mit a 
court ; and I'll nefer come back here some more. 

Prudence. If you do, I'll scald you. ( Threatening.) 
Go! 

Pretzel (at door) . Yaw. May I nefer hope to die 
if I do. (Exit door in flat.) 

Prudence (returns to tub). Was there ever such im- 
pudence? Ha, ha, ha! I've found a lover at last. 
Poor old Pretzel wants a frau. " You come mit me." 
Ha, ha, ha ! I needn't die an old maid ; but it will 
certainly be my last chance when I consent to become 
Frau Pretzel. ( Wrings out clothes, and puts them in 
basket. Ginger heard outside whistling " Yankee 
Doodle." He throws open door, and marches down 
stage to front, still ivhistling; has a heavy stick of wood 
at i-*- shoulder -arms.") 

Ginger (marking time) . Ker-ker-kerumpany — ten- 
sion. Halt ! order — hams ! (Lets stick down upon his 
toe; drops it, seizes foot with both hands, hops across 
stage on one foot howling, drops into chair, l.) Wh- 
wh-what de infusion in de ranks ? Whooh ! — dar's a 
halt in de confield sure's you bawn. 

Prudence. Ginger, where on earth have } r ou been? 

Ginger. Hm? Dat you, Miss Prudence ? Been down 



224 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

wid de sojers onto de — de pomade ground, you know, 
down de cow-pastur. Lots of 'em down dar, and so 
fine. Oh, golly! Dar. was Cunnel Stuffin — 

Prudence. No, no, Ginger : Col. Griffin. 

Ginger. Hm ? Wal, he had stuffin nuff in his buzzum 
to fill a bolster. Den dar was Capn — Capn Gingham. 

Prudence. Oh, no, Ginger ! Capt. Ingram. 

Ginger. Yas, clat what I said, — Cap'n Gingham. 
He was dressed up fine, he was. He had a big shut — 
shut — shut — two on his head ; an' — an' — an' — a 
yaller flume stuck into it ; an' — an' — a red crash 
round his waist ; an' — an' — a napkin on his back ; 
an' — an' — a partridge-box fastened onto his side. 
Golly ! he jes as proud as — as — a rooster in de barn- 
yard. Lots dere, Miss Prudence. I wanted to jine, 
but dey wouldn't let me. Said 'twould spoil my com- 
plex. Dey was going to trabble in de sun, and I'd get 
tanned. If some of dem fellows don't get tanned, 
den shoot me. 

Prudence. It is a grand rising. I've seen many 
such down East. 

Ginger. Down Yeast ! Yas, dat's de yeast dat sets 
de whole country rising. 

Prudence. Come, Ginger, help me with the basket. 

Ginger (rising). To be sure, to be sure ! (Limps.) 
Have jes' about smashed dat ere hoof (feels of heel) ; 
but de vital part am safe. (Enter Mrs. Sterling 
r. u. e., with knitting in her hands.) 

Mrs. S. Has thee nearly finished thy washing, Pru- 
dence ? 

Prudence. Yes. The last basketful is just going 
out. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 225 

Mrs. S. Thee is a smart girl, Prudence, and a 
good one. 

Prudence. And yon are a good, kind friend to me ; 
for when I had no home, out of love for my mother, 
who had left the Friends to marry my father, you 
called me to } r ou, and comforted me in nry sorrow 
with loving words and kind acts. 

Mrs. S. Child, thee has repaid us a thousand-fold. 
Th} r hands are skilful, thy feet active, tlry whole soul is 
in thy work, and thy singing and laughter sunshine in 
our sober house. 

Ginger. Dat's so, missus ; she de sunshine in de r 
garden too. De roses blush wid pleasure when she 
skips along de paths ; an' — an ' — de great proud 
sunflowers look ashamed of demselves for being so 
ugly looking ; an' — an' de inyuns waft de fragrance ; 
an' — an' — 

Prudence. Ha, ha, ha ! Ginger, you are too ro- 
mantic. 

Ginger. Got a little touch of de rumatics when dat 
ar stick dropped. % 

Prudence. Come, we shall not get the clothes out 
to-day. (Takes handle of basket.) 

Ginger (takes other side of basket). Say, Miss 
Prudence, why am we — us, you and me — like twins? 

Prudence. Can't guess that, Ginger. 

Ginger. Kase — kase — kase we's so clothesly 
united. See? Yah, yah, yah! Dat's a conunder- 
done. 

Prudence. It's overdone, Ginger ; we must find a 
dividing line somewhere. 
15 



226 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Ginger. We'll hab to trabble from pole to pole to 
find it. Yah, yah, yah ! {Exeunt Prudence and 
Ginger, with basket, door in f.) 

Mrs. S. (sitting on settle, and knitting). She's a 
dear good girl, though she does plague the Friends 
with her plain talk on equal rights and liberty. They 
call her a firebrand : but I like her all the better for 
that. She is a spark ftirown up by the great fire of 
patriotism which roared so grandly at Concord, fallen 
here to kindle a fresh blaze for liberty. Ah, Rachel ! 
thee is a little treacherous to thy faith. The Friends 
counsel peace ; but I fear thy heart is with the op- 
pressed. (Enter, door in flat, Obed Sterling, followed 
by Bos worth.) 

Obed. What thee says may be true, Friend Bos- 
worth ; but the Friends counsel neutralit}' in these 
troublous da}'s. 

Bosworth. Na}', naj r ; the Friends are wrong. We 
must take side in the coming struggle. Thee knows 
the rebels are in council now in the city, have already 
framed a declaration of independence which to-day 
will be adopted. Their harangues are loud and bitter. 
They hurl defiance at our good Friend George, who is 
the rightful owner of this soil. We must be just to 
him. 

Mrs. S. Though he be unjust to us. Thinkest thou 
this would be the advice of Friend William Penn, who 
bought this land of Friend George, and gave it to us 
as a refuge from oppressors ? 

Obed. Nay nay, Rachel ; thee must not counsel 
opposition. We are Friends. If our enemy smite us 
on the right cheek, we must turn to him the left. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 227 

Mrs. S. Verily, Obed, thee speaks not the words 
of soberness. When the tax-gatherer did smite thee 
on the cheek, thee did turn upon him with thy fist, and 
smite him to the ground. 

Obed. Nay, speak not of that, Rachel. I did for- 
get myself. 

Mrs. S. Then let tlry memory be treacherous again 
on the side of right and justice. 

Obed. Na} T , na} r , it must not be. I should set a 
bad example to son Ephraim, who is strongly imbued 
with the principles of peace ; and daughter Ruth — 
where is the child? 

Mrs. S. I left her at her window tending plants. 

Obed. Thee had better go to her. I thought I saw 
her, as I came in, with her eyes fastened upon the 
warlike evolutions of the rebels be}'ond. I fear the 
plants will be neglected. 

Mrs. S. I will send her to thee and Friend Bos- 
worth. (Exit R. U. E.) 

Obed. Sit thee down, Friend Bosworth {sits on 
settle) . 

Bosworth (takes chair from table, and sits c). 
Friend Obed, thy daughter is a coniely damsel, and 
fair to look upon. 

Obed. Yea, she is like the best fruits of my orchard, 
— fair and rosy to the eye, sound and wholesome to 
the core. 

Bosivorth. Thee will not think me presuming, 
Obed ; for thee has been very kind to me. When I 
came to thee a stranger, thee did use thy influence with 
the Friends, and made me one of thy sect. 
2 



228 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO 



Obed. Yea, thee was a stranger, — one who had 
fled from persecution in Massachusetts, because thee 
would not join the unrighteous rebels in their oppo- 
sition to Friend George. Yea, I did stand tlry friend. 

JBosworth. Thee can stand my friend again, if thee 
but choose. I love thj' daughter Ruth. 

Obed. Thee — thee love my daughter ! 

Bosivorth. Yea, Friend Obed; give her to me, and 
thee will never regret it. 

Obed. If daughter Ruth saith Yea to thy petition, 
thee will find me thy friend ; but she shall make her 
own free choice. 

Bosivorth. Hearken, Friend Obed. In a few da}*s 
this place will be filled with British soldiers. Only 
the friends of Friend George will be free from molesta- 
tion. Should thee remain neutral, tlry fine place 
will be despoiled, thy gold seized, thyself and thy 
friends be left homeless. Thee should prepare for 
this. 

Obed. Prepare ! How ? 

Bosworth. Make friends with the agents of Friend 
George. Offer tlry services to assist in breaking down 
this unhallowed rebellion. 

Obed. Offer nry services ! Don't thee forget I am 
a Friend, — forbidden to bear arms? 

Bosworth. Thee need not, Friend Obed, bear arms. 
There are other wa}'s in which thee can aid. I am 
in the service of Friend George. 

Obed. Thee, Friend Bosworth? 

Bosworth. Yea. When his soldiers come, I shall 
pass in a list of the loyal and the rebellious. The 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 229 

property of the rebels will be seized. The loyal will 
still hold their own. 

Obed. Bos worth, thee is a spy. 

Bosworth. Thee gives nry poor services a hard 
name. No matter. These rebels shall suffer for the 
wrongs the} r have heaped upon me ; and I'll sell them 
body and soul, if craft and cunning can do it. 

Obed. And thee would marry my daughter? 

Bosworth. Would? I will. I am powerful now. I 
can denounce ; I can protect. If thee will use thy 
influence with her, I stand thy friend ; if not, thee and 
thy household must be outlawed. 'Tis a fair bargain. 
Her hand for tlry peace, perhaps thy life. 

Obed. Nay, thee knows 'tis my custom to sleep 
upon a bargain. Fear not ; thy offer shall be well con- 
sidered. Hush ! Here is daughter Ruth. (Enter 
Ruth r. u. E.) 

Ruth. Mother tells me thee does want me, father. 

Obed. Nay, daughter. I did but ask for thee, miss- 
ing; thee from the kitchen. 

Ruth. Prudence sent me away. I would have 
helped her with the washing, but she bade me begone ; 
so I have been at my window, watering the plants. 

Obed. And watching the men of war on the green. 

Ruth. Yea, thee is right. My eyes would wander 
that way. Was I wrong? Thee has taught me that 
war is unholy ; that man has no right to take the life 
of his brother-man. 

Obed. Thee has been taught well. 

Rath. Then Friend George across the water must 
be a very wicked man ; for 'twas by his order the first 
blood was shed. 



230 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

Obed. Nay : he was but asserting his right to his 
own propert}*. 

Ruth. Then our neighbors do right in defending 
their liberties. Is it not so ? 

Obed. Nay, child ; thee cannot understand this 
quarrel. Thee had better hold thy peace. Does thee 
not see Friend Bosworth? 

Ruth. Friend Bosworth, thee is welcome. 

Bosworth. Thee is always kind, Friend Ruth. 
And so thee has a wicked sympathy for these rebel- 
lious neighbors? 

Ruth. Yea. I must be a very wicked little Quaker; 
for I do hope they will wax strong in their faith that 
liberty is a birthright ; and he who* would not defend it 
with his life is a coward. (Turns up stage to ivindoio, 
and looks out.) 

Bosworth. Friend Obed, thee has a little rebel 
beneath thy roof. 

Obed, Nay, never heed her, Friend Bosworth. 
Her mother has an obstinate nature, and is apt to be 
a little tart of tongue ; and the child is her constant 
companion. I grieve at this backsliding from the 
principles of our faith. But thee will find son Eph- 
raim untainted with the war-spirit. He is a lad after 
my own heart. Come, let us go to nry room. I would 
hear more of thy plans. (Exit l.) 

Bosworth (rises, sets back chair, turns, and looks at 
Ruth) . Verilv, she is a little rebel. But when thee 
is mine, my pretty Ruth, I'll teach thee better. 
(Exit l.) 

Ruth (comes down r.) . I like not Friend Bosworth. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1770. 231 

He looks no one in the face : he is soft of step, and 
hath a sneaking way of watching that troubles me. 
When m}' e3 r es are turned away, I can feel his eyes 
upon me, for a shudder, as though a snake was crossing 
1113' path, runs through me. He is not to be trusted. 
(Enter Prudence door in flat ivith pail and dipper.) 

Prudence (comes l.). Hallo, Miss Impudence, didn't 
I tell you not to come into the kitchen ? 

Ruth. Nay, thee must not be angiy, Prudence. 
Father sent for me. 

Prudence. Well, remember you are to touch nothing. 
Its no matter though, the washing's out. (Knock at 
door). Who's that? Come in. (Enter Elmer Gran- 
ger loith gun: looks at Ruth.) 

Elmer. Is this the house of Obed Sterling? (Sees 
Prudence : drops gun.) Prudence, sister ! 

Prudence. Wiry, it's Elmer! (They run into each 
other's arms.) Oh, I'm so glad to see 3*011 again ! 

Elmer. Why, sis, 3-011 dear little soul ! give us 
another buss. 

Prudence. A dozen. Now, where did 3*011 come 
from, and what brings 3'ou here? 

Elmer. I came here with our delegate to the con- 
vention from Massachusetts. Arrived at Philadelphia 
yesteKhry, saw a good da3*'s work, had a good night's 
rest, and came out earbr this morning to hunt 3*011 up 
before I go back to witness the adoption of the declara- 
tion. Sis, the whole countiy is rising. It needs but 
that determined act to thrill all 103-al hearts, and 
tyranii3 T is crushed, our land is free. (Looks at Ruth, 
who stands r. watching them.) But there's somebod3*, 
Prudence*. Manners, sis, manners. 2 * 



232 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Prudence. Why, that's Ruth. — Ruth, this is my 
brother Elmer. 

Elmer. Hope you are well, marm. 

Ruth. Na} r , thee is mistaken, the mother is within. 
I am daughter Ruth. 

Prudence. Ha, ha, ha! She's a funny little thing, 
Elmer. 

Elmer. She's a beauty, sis. I'd like to shake 
hands with her. 

Prudence. Then, why don't you? she won't bite. 

Bitth. Thee is very welcome, Friend Elmer. I 
would like to shake hands with thee, but thee seem a 
bit bashful. 

Elmer. Bashful! me? My gracious, sis, did 3 T ou 
hear that ? 

Prudence. Ha, ha, ha ! You're frightened, Elmer. 

Elmer {crossing to Ruth) . I am a rebel, Miss Ruth, 
in arms against a tyrant king. I would gladlv give 
nry life to see my country free. Will } T ou give me your 
hand now ? 

Ruth. Yea, thee is a man after my own heart. 
Thee shall have both {offers her hands, which he takes). 
I love thy sister dearly : should I not share her pride in 
such a noble patriot as thee is ? 

Elmer {pressing her hands). Thank } r ou. Sjmipa- 
thy for our cause from those whose principles forbid 
resistance, is a proof we are right. We onh T ask our 
liberty to hold what is our own, — nought else. 

Ruth. Indeed ! Yet thee now holds what is not 
tlry own, — my hands. 

Elmer {dropping her hands) . I beg your pardon. 1 
— I — 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 233 

Ruth. Nay, thee must not feel hurt : thee may 
have them again if 'twill please thee. (Gives hands.) 

Elmer. Oh, } r ou — (drops them suddenly, and turns 
to Prudence). Sis, I must run, or I shall be in love 
with this fascinating little Quaker. 

Prudence. Nonsense. Yankees never run. (They 
talk together.) 

Ruth (aside). I never saw a man I liked so well. 
He hath a good form, a noble face, and eyes, ah ! they 
make me shudder; not as Friend Bos worth's e3'es do, 
but still a shudder, yet veiy pleasant to feel : I like it. 

Prudence. I mustn't stop to talk with you now, 
Elmer : must get the washing things out of the way. 
You run into the garden with Ruth while I pick up a bit. 

Ruth. Yea, Friend Elmer, I will show thee the way. 
Thee is not afraid to trust thyself with me ? 

Elmer. Afraid ! (aside) but I am. (Aloud.) Oh, 
certainly not ! will you take my arm ? 

Ruth. Nay, give me tlry hand, and I will lead thee 
to the flower-beds. (Gives hand, and leads him to 
door.) 

Prudence. Ah ! Elmer ? (he turns) . Thee seems a 
bit bashful. Ha, ha, ha ! (He shakes his fist at her, 
then exit with Ruth.) Well, he's provided for : so I'll 
go to work again. (Goes behind tub, and dips ivater 
from tub to pail.) It's just good to see that boy from 
the old place again. (Enter Ephraim, door in f., quiet- 
ly ; stands at door a second, and looks at Prudence, 
then creeps to door r. u. e., listens, then steps over to 
Prudence, raises her face, and kisses her; then steps 
quickly back to door, and stands meekly twirling his 
thumbs, with eyes turned to the ceiling. 



234 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Prudence (as he kisses her) . Murder ! thieves ! 
(Turns, and looks at Ephraim:.) Ephraim Sterling! 

Ephraim. Yea, Friend Prudence, here I am once 
more. 

Prudence. Yes, I felt your presence before you 
spoke. How dare you? 

Ephraim. Verily I have travelled far this morning, 
my lips were parched with thirst : thine were like a 
tempting bunch of cherries, and I did fall into tempta- 
tion. Art thou not glad I am at home again? 

Prudence (keeps at ivork bailing out her tub) . Yes, 
I'm glad when the cows are at home, the hens and 
chickens on their perch, and the pigs quietly asleep in 
their pens. 

Ephraim. Cows, hens, hogs ! Verily, Friend Pru- 
dence, thee takes me for a brute. 

Prudence. No, indeed, for brutes will fight. Even 
a rat will defend himself when driven to a corner. 

Ephraim. Thee knows my love of peace. Am I 
not a Friend ? 

Prudence. Fiddlesticks ! Whose friend, when you 
have not the courage or the will to defend and protect 
the oppressed? 

Ephraim (attempts to take her hand) . Thee knows 
I would be more than a friend to thee, that 1 love thee. 
(She resents his attempt to take her hand, and here slips 
a piece of soap into his hand. He looks at it, and 
throws it into the tub with a splash.) What nonsense 
is this? 

Prudence. You talk so fast, I thought you might be 
short of soap. Ha, ha, ha ! 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 235 

Ephraim. Be serious, Prudence. I would have 
thee be my wife. 

Prudence. You ! wiry, a man of peace can onty be 
a piece of a man any way. I mean to have a whole 
one, or none ; whole-hearted, whole-souled, with a 
bump of combativeness to match the bump of benevo- 
lence. The man to win a Yankee girl's heart must be 
as determined as the motto on the old flag, " Don't 
tread on me." 

Ephraim. No man should tread on me. 

Prudence. No, you would crawl out of his way. 

Ephraim. Yea, I would remove myself from his 
path. 

Prudence. How very kind ! But suppose you should 
see one of those brave Tories, who take every opportu- 
nity to insult defenceless women, put his arm about 
my waist? 

Ephraim (fiercely) . I would knock him down. 

Prudence. But that would be violence. 

Ephraim. Thee is right. I would lay him gently 
on the earth, and sit quietly on his prostrate form till 
thee was out of sight. 

Prudence. You would protect me? 

Ephraim. With my life. Will thee not give me 
the right to protect thee ? 

Prudence. No, the man who wins me must help 
free my country. 

Ephraim. Yea, I will be that man. 

Prudence. You, a born Quaker? 

Ephraim. I will be born again. Thy love shall 
make me strong, valiant, 3 r ea, for thy sake I will be- 
come a desperado. (Strikes hand on tub.) 



236 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Prudence Well, don't upset my tub, then. Ephraim, 
if I thought I could depend upon }ou, I would — 

Ephraim (eagerly) . Yea, thee would — 

Prudence. Ask thee to help me with the tub. 

Epliraim. Nay, thee mocks me. I'll have no 
more to say to thee. (Comes down l.) 

Prudence. That's right, Ephraim. Silence is so 
becoming to a Quaker ! (Sings.) 

Father and I went down to camp, 
Along with Siah Baker; 
- And there we saw the patriot boys, 
But not a single Quaker. 

(Enter Ginger while she is singing, door in flat, and 
joins in chorus.) 

Yankee Doodle, &c. (as before). 

Ephraim. Yea, the Friends maj- well call her a fire- 
brand, for she'll drive me to the battle-field in spite 
of myself. (Exit l.) 

Ginger. Dat's de camp-meeting for me. When 3*011 
gwine down dar again, Miss Prudence ? 

Prudence. Here, Ginger, catch hold of the tub. 

Ginger. Yas, indeed. (They take tub from bench, 
and set it on stage near l). Hallo, who's dat? 

(Enter Ruth and Elmer, door in flat: he has his 
arm about her waist.) 

Ruth. Thee sees I have brought thy brother back 
safe, Prudence. 

Elmer. And we've had a delightful ramble. 

Prudence. Yes, } T ou have ivaisted no time in getting 
acquainted. (Ruth sits on settle.) Come, Ginger, 
take out the bench. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1770. 237 

Elmer. Hallo, this is Ginger: I've heard of him. 

Prudence. And Ginger has heard of 3-011. — This 
is my brother Elmer, Ginger. 

Ginger. By golly, you don't mean it ! Massa 
Elmer, 3-011' s jes one ob de patriots. {Boies and 
scrapes.) 

Elmer. Give me 3-our hand, Ginger. 

Ginger. Wh-wh-what ! you gwine to shake hands 
wid a darky? 

Elmer (shaking hands). Yes, and proud to have 
the chance, Ginger. My sister has told me how boldly 
you came to her rescue, when a Toiy dared to step 
across her path. You're a brave fellow. 

Ginger. Tank 3*011, massa. (Holds up his hand.) 
Ole hand, 3'011's been shook 03' a brave man : dar 
sha'n't no more soap and water wipe out dat are honor, 
chile, neber. By golly, dese Down-Easters be white 
men ; day'll be freeing all de darkies one ob dese days. 
(Takes xip bench, and goes to door.) Tank 3-011, Massa 
Elmer. I's a poor old darky, but I got a heart, and, 
if I could die for 3-011 and Miss Prudence, I'd do it 
freely. (Exit door f.) 

Elmer. Now, Prudence, come and sit down : I've 
much to sa3' to 3-011. 

Prudence. No : work first, and pleasure afterwards. 
(Takes up pail.) I must go for water. 

Elmer (taking pail) . Not while I am here : where 
shall I find it? ' 

Prudence. I'll show 3 T ou, come. (Exit Prudence 
and Elmer, door in flat.) 

Ruth. I like Friend Elmer. What a pity he's one 



238 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

of the world's people ! But yet I think I like him 
the better for that. None of the Friends can talk so 
sweetly and so bravely. {Enter l. Bosicorth.) 

Bosivorth (aside). I have found her alone at last. 
Friend Obed seems to be of a wavering nature. I fear 
I cannot depend much upon his assistance. I'll know 
nry fate here at once. (Aside.) Friend Ruth. 

Ruth. Well, Friend Bosworth. 

Bosivorth. I have told tlry father that I love thee. 

Ruth. Indeed ! Thee never told me as much. 

Bosivorth. I tell thee now, that I love thee dearly. 

Ruth. Has thee seen the young patriot, Elmer 
Granger ? 

Bosivorth. Thee does not mean to tell me the brother 
of Prudence is here? 

Ruth. Yea, he is here. We have held sweet con- 
verse together, and I like him. He is so comely and 
brave, I think he would inspire- thee with admiration, 
Friend Bosworth, and thee is not a man easily moved. 

Bosworth. We will speak of him another time. I 
told thee that I loved thee. 

Ruth. I heard thee, and thought how pleasant would 
be those words from the lips of Friend Elmer. 

Bosworth. Ruth Sterling, would thee insult me? 
Does thee not know that this language indicates a 
marked preference for this young rebel ? 

Ruth. Najr, I did not know it ; but, if thee thinks it 
does, I'm very glad. 

Bosworth. Ruth Sterling, thee must think of him no 
more. It is thy father's wish that thee shall become 
my wife. Ruth, Ruth, thee knows not how dearly I 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 239 

love thee. (Sits beside her, and attempts to take her 
hand: she rises indignantly.) 

Ruth. Be silent, I command thee ; not even m} r 
father's wish shall compel me to hear such words from 
tlry lips. 

Bosworth. Be warned in time, Ruth. Th} T father's 
life is in my hands. Consent to be my wife, and in 
the coming struggle I will protect him ; refuse, and I 
give him up to the ruthless hands of the advancing foe. 

Ruth. Thee speaks falsely, Uriel Bosworth. My 
father can owe nothing to thee, and if he did would 
rather die than peril his daughter's happiness. Be- 
gone ! 

Bosworth. Na}*, Ruth (puts his arm about her 
waist, and seizes her hand). I'll not be repulsed so 
coolly. 

Rath (struggling) . Release me, I command thee. 

Bosworth. I will be heard. (Enter Elmer, door 
in flat, with pail; drops it; seizes Bosworth, and hurls 
him across stage.) 

Elmer. You have been heard, friend. (Enter Mrs. 
Sterling, r. 1 e. ; Obed and Ephraim, l.) You see 
you have aroused the whole family. 

Obed. Daughter Ruth, I heard thy voice raised in 
anger. 

Bosiuorth. Friend Obed, I am to blame. Carried 
away by the love which thee knows burns within me, 
I urged my suit so warmly as to frighten Ruth. She 
must pardon and forget. 

Ruth. Yea, Friend Bosworth. I will pardon, but 
I cannot forget. 



240 ONE HUNDRED YEAES AGO ; 

Obed. Stranger, thee is welcome. 

Ruth. He is no stranger, father. This is Elmer 
Grander. 

Obed. The brother of Prudence ? Thee is heartily 
welcome. {Gives his hand.) 

Elmer. Thanks, Friend Sterling. {Enter Prudence 
door in f.) 

Prudence. Yes, that's my big brother. Come, Eph- 
raim, 3^011 should know him. 

Ephraim. Friend Elmer, I am glad to meet thee. 
{Shakes hands.) 

Elmer. I've heard of 3 T ou. Prudence often writes. 
I think you've a warm corner in her heart. 

Prudence {pinching him) . You silly goose ! You'll 
spoil every thing. 

Elmer. Then I'll be dumb as an oj^ster. 

(Elmer c. ; Prudence r. c. ; Ruth on settle; Mrs. 
S. stands behind her, with hand on her shoulder ; Obed 
l. c. ; Ephraim next l. ; and Bosworth extreme left.) 

Obed. Thee has seen stormy times in thy native 
place ; thee has suffered deeply in this wicked rebellion. 

Elmer. Wicked rebellion? You are wrong, friend. 
If ever the torch of war is lighted in a holy cause, 'tis 
when it flames above the altar of liberty. Remember 
that 'twas only after the iron heel of the oppressor had 
trampled on our hard-won harvest that we rose defiant. 
I have seen the home of my childhood laid in ashes, 
my father shot down by foreign hirelings who had no 
rights to enforce, no homes to protect, our dearest 
rights insulted to feed the vanity of the despot who 
sits on England's throne. He would be a coward in- 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 241 

deed, who, with such blighting wrongs to avenge, would 
not dare all to free the land of such a curse. 

Bosworth. Young blood is hot, and fieiy words but 
cheap. Save thy breath : we are loyal to Friend George. 

Mrs. S. {coming down). Nay, speak for thyself, 
Friend Bosworth. — Friend Elmer, thee is welcome. 
(Gives her hand.) Thee sees they have forgotten 
me : I am Rachel Sterling. 

Elmer (clasping her hand). My clear mother's true 
and steadfast friend. 

Mrs. S. Yea, it was a sore trial to nry friendship 
when she left us to mate with one of the world's peo- 
ple. 

Elmer. Bat } t ou were true to her always. You 
showed your love by giving my sister a home. Poor 
mother, hers was a hard fate. I could not sorrow for nry 
father ; for he died bravely, with musket in hand. But 
mother — curse the fiend that basely/ struck her down ! 
The} r told me that our home was in flames. T left the 
ranks of the little band, who were struggling against 
the foe, and rushed home to protect my mother. As 1 
nearecl the house I saw her flying from its door, pursued 
by one Richard Cross, a renegade, who had led our 
foes to plunder; Even as I looked he raised the sword 
he bore, and struck her down. I flew at him, seized 
his weapon, and struck at his bared head. He raised 
his hand, and caught the blow, then turned and fled. I 
could not overtake him, and returned to meet a last 
look from my mother's eyes, as she sunk in death, 
The renegade fled from our town. He bears the mark 
of the sword on his right hand ; and, should we ever 
16 



242 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

meet, my mother's death shall be terribly avenged. 
(Bosworth hides his right hand in his bosom.) 

Mrs. /S. Nay, thee must not speak of vengeance ; 
let the man of sin depart in peace ; within he bears his 
punishment. Thy mother was a good woman. I am 
glad she wed the man of her choice. 

Elmer. Then you have not the Friends' prejudice 
against marriage outside the sect. 

Mrs. S. I may have the prejudice ; but I would not 
stand in the wa} T of happiness. 

Elmer. Even were it your own daughter ? 

Mrs. S. Yea. My daughter Ruth shall make her 
choice ; and I shall love him even though he be of the 
world's people. 

Prudence (aside to Elmer). Hear that, brother. 
Don't lose the opportunity. Ruth may be yours. 

Elmer (aside to Prudence). I'll win the little 
Quaker, in spite of the scowling Friend }onder. (Enter 
Ginger, door in r.) 

Ginger. Here comes old Pretzel, running like de 
debble. Somefin's broke, sure for sartin. 

Prudence. Well, vou break for that teakettle. I 
must scald out my tub. 

Ginger (goes to fireplace). I'll fotch him, Miss 
Prudence. 

(Enter Pretzel, door in fiat, ivith his hand to his 
nose, which is bleeding.) 

Pretzel. Murter, tieves ! Mine prains is broke, ant 
my heat all running avay. Look at dot, see de bleet 
dot I ish shedding for mine country. 

Obed. What's the trouble, friend Pretzel? 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 243 

Pretzel. De Tories come to mine house. De}- proke 
mine vindows, de}' lets mine peer all runt ava}-, ant 
dey vill pull der house up to der grount if somepody 
don't come right avay pretty quick. 

Elmer. The dastard. Another outrage to rouse the 
slumbering patriotism of your insulted people ! They 
shall find one strong arm to bar the wa}\ 

Pretzel. Dot's right. You're a prave young man. 
Dey vill run vhen dey see 3011. Go right avay quick, 
ant I vill vait here till 3011 come pack. (Going l.) 

Elmer. No, you must lead the wa}\ Come, come : 
we lose time. (Takes his gun.) Now, friends, we 
have an opportunity to show these cowards what a few 
brave men can do. Who will follow? (All stand 
silent.) Must I be alone in this good work? 

Bosworth. We are a peaceable people, we meddle 
not with broils. Thee will find none here to assist 
thee. 

Elmer. Indeed, I expected little from you. You 
have the air of a coward, one who would force his love 
upon an unwilling woman. You need not scowl. I 
fear you not. 

Prudence. Oh, I wish I was a man ! Bring me that 
kettle, Ginger. 

Ginger (brings kettle over to tub) . Yas, indeed, and 
den I'm wid you, Massa Elmer. 

Prudence (pours boiling ivater into tub. Ginger 
stands just l. of tub). I'd like to scald somebod}\ 
Might make a little stir. Lord knows there's some 
needed here. 

Elmer. Ginger, you're a^brave fellow : come, we've 



244 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

no time to lose. — Hear me, friends. I know not the 
number of the foe. For myself I care not, but I would 
have our onset a success. Remember, if this outrage 
is not quickty avenged, you may be the next victims. 
For your own sakes be wise. Come {pause). Shame ! 
In a neighbor's cause will not one join with us to pre- 
vent outrage ? 

Obecl. Na}' : our faith forbids violence. Not one. 

Ephraim (stepping to c). Yea, there is one : I will 
join thee. 

Obed, Bosworth, Ruth. Thee ! 

Ephraim. Yea, I. There's nvy hand, Friend Elmer. 
Tell me what to do, where to strike, and thee will find 
the Quaker's arm is strong for the right. (Prudence 
goes off, j,.) 

Obed. Son Ephraim ! Is thee gone mad ? thee will 
disgrace the coat of drab. 

Ephraim (taking off his coat, and throiving it down) . 
Nay, I'll leave it behind. 'Twill give me more free- 
dom. I will smite the enemy with my fists. If I only 
had a gun now ! (Enter Prudence, l.) 

Prudence. Here it is, Ephraim. I brought it from 
Concord, that I might give it to the brave man who 
would fight forme. O Ephraim! (Throivs her arms 
about his neck, and kisses him.) 

Ephraim. Verity, I wax strong for the fight. On, 
Friend Elmer, on ! 

Ginger. Golly, dar's fight in de } T oung Quaker. 

Elmer (gives his hand to Ephraim) . Thanks, you 
are a good true man, a friend indeed. 

Bosworth. You'll repen| this, young man. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 245 

Elmer. Silence. Dare } r ou stand between a man 
and his country's cause? Young blood is hot, and fiery 
words are cheap, you say. My deeds shall speak for 
me. — Come, Pretzel. 

Pretzel. Yaw. I vill pe mit }'0u pretty quick. 
(Passes Ginger, and steps on his toe.) 

Ginger. Ow, dat ar corn again ! (Pushing Pretzel, 
he sits doivn in tub of water.) 

Pretzel (with hands on sides of tub raises himself) . 
Py gracious, someting's purning ! 

Ginger. Yah, yah, }ah ! dat Dutchman always in 
hot water. 

Tableau. — Elmer and Ephraim at door ivith hands 
clasped; Prudence l. back; Pretzel in tub; Ginger 
next l., laughing; Bosworth extreme l.; Ruth stands 
by fireplace with hands clasped, looking intently at El- 
mer ; Mrs. Sterling behind settle watching Ephraim ; 
Ob ed r. Curtain. 

From the time of Pretzel's entrance, let the speech be 
quick, the action rapid. 



246 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 



Act II. Evening. Scene same as in Act I. Cur- 
tain at window drawn. Bright fire in fireplace. 
Candle burning on table. Prudence seated at table 
sewing, or spinning if there is a wheel on stage. 
Mrs. Sterling on settle knitting. Obed seated in a 
chair, ivhich is set back against scene r., near fireplace 
next 1 e.; his head leaning back, with a silk hand- 
kerchief thrown over it; his hands folded across his 
breast. 

Prudence. After a storm comes a calm. The ven- 
erable Obed and his spouse have been having what 
would be called among the world's people, a spat. I 
never heard two people go on so ; and now he's evi- 
dently disciplining himself for rebelling against the 
spirit of peace. (Obed groans.) No, he's waking up 
again. 

Obed (snatching off handkerchief). I tell thee, 
Rachel, thee is a foolish woman. Thee has listened 
to the mutterings of the rebellious ; thee has given 
thy heart ; yea, encouraged thy daughter to sympathize 
with the discontented, and now our own children turn 
against us. 

Mrs. S. Speak for thyself, Obed. Our children 
have not turned against me, and I blame not myself that 
the}' have a warm interest in the success of the right. 

Obed (groans) . Yea, verily, peace hath fled from our 
dwelling. This firebrand cometh among us with his 
warlike tongue, and our daughter warmeth towards 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1770. 247 

him ; and our son forsaketh the path of peace, and goeth 
forth to slay. It shall not be. The girl shall be locked 
in her chamber, and the boy — 

Mrs. S. Nay. Be not a fool, Obed. Thee might 
as well attempt to stop the whirlwind as to quench the 
fire of patriotism when 'tis kindled in a man's breast, 
or to smother love when once it hath found a resting- 
place in a maiden's heart. 

Prudence {aside). That's what I call sound doc- 
trine. 

Obed. Rachel, thee is mad. Knows thee not that 
the fruitage of love is marriage, and Friends cannot 
marry out of their own sect ? 

3frs. S. Thee knows 'tis a clause in our creed to 
which I could never give approval. Does thee re- 
member Hester Page, who loved the father of Elmer 
and Prudence? She was beloved by all. She married, 
and the Friends turned from her. I felt the} r were un- 
just to her ; that she deserved better treatment after 
all her devotion to the good works among us. She fell 
a martyr in the cause of libert}' ; and if I could atone 
for our neglect of her by the gift of our daughter to her 
son, — her noble son, — I would consent, though all the 
Friends with uplifted hands and looks of horror should 
cry, "Nay." 

Prudence (aside). Gloiy hallelujah ! 

Obed. Nay, be silent: thee'll get a smart talking- 
to at the next Yearly Meeting. 

Mrs. S. Yea ; but I have a tongue, and can talk 
back, Obed. 

Obed. Yea, and drown the elders with thy clamor. 



248 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Ginger {outside). Bress de Lord, I'se home ! Hallo 
Massa Eph., is } r er comin' ? {Enter door in f.) 

Prudence (rising). Wiry, Ginger, where have you 
been all da} T ? Where's Ephraim and Elmer? Is any- 
body hurt? Why don't you speak? 

Ginger. Now, jes you hole on, Miss Prudence. 
Does yer tink I's gwine to answer fort} T -leben ques- 
tions widout a breaf ? Here I is : dat's nuff for me. 

Mrs. S. Are the lads safe, Ginger? 

Ginger. Wa'l, I dunno, misses. I'm safe, an' 
dat's de most consequential. I'll tole you all about 
it. We went down dar to old Pretzel's dis mornin', 
Massa Elmer, Massa Eph., an' — an' Ginger, dat's 
me. De old Dutchman, he's a sneak ; he jis watch his 
chance, and when we wasn't looking he clarecl, he did. 
But we went down dar, got mos' to de house, and we 
hear de wus yellin' dat eber was. Den Massa Elmer, 
he sa} T s, says he, Hole on, let's squirmish a bit: so 
we la} r down onto de grass and squirmished up to de 
fence ; den worked on up to de woodpile, and made 
dat a sort of a-a-a bull-whack. Den Massa Elmer 
and Massa Eph. (ley loaded dermuskats, an' I loaded 
a big stick off de woodpile. Dat ar Massa Eph., by 
golly, I nebber seed a man so nerbous in my life ; he 
kept a pourin' in de powder an' de shot, and rain- 
ing down, till he must have had six bustin' charges in 
dat ar muskat. Den we. looked round de corner ob de 
woodpile, an' dar was six Toiy fellows a-sittin' on de 
grass, wid a keg of old Pretzel's beer an' -an' sour 
kruet, an'-an'-snasengers, jes a' stuffin' an' drinkin'. 
Den Massa Elmer sings out, Blaze away, boj'S, an'-an' 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 249 

let fly. Den Massa Eph., he sings out, an' he let fry. 
Dar was an explosion like a cannon : cle old muskat 
kicked ; an' Massa Eph., he jes layed on his back an' 
hollered. But dem are Tories dey jes scooted down 
the road, wid Massa Elmer an' Massa Eph. loading 
up and blazin' away. Dey dropped four on 'em. We 
kep' up de chase three hours ; den we lost sight of 
Massa Elmer an' de Tories, and turned back. 

Prudence. Did you forsake Elmer? 

Ginger. No, chile, he forsake us. Couldn't keep 
up wid him no how. 

Mrs. S. But where's Ephraim? 

Eph. {Enter door in f.) Yea, verily, he is here. 

(His coat and vest are gone, one of his stockings is 

* hanging over his shoe, the sleeve of his shirt is ripped up, 

elbow scraped, a red handkerchief round his head, one 

eye blacked, and face begrimed with powder and dust, 

gun in hand.) 

Obed (groans). Ephraim, my son, does thee return 
to us in such a pitiful plight? 

Ephraim. Yea, I have smelt the smoke of battle, 
I have smitten the despoiler with snipe-shot. I have felt 
the butt of my musket in near proximity to my e}*e. I 
have sat in the dust, and, in the language of the world's 
people, have had a jolly good fight. 

Ginger. Dat's so ; and won de victory. 

Obed (groans). Ephraim, my son, my heart is 
sore troubled. Thee was reared a child of peace ; 
thee is now a man of war and sin ; thee has brought 
shame to our house. 

Ephraim (boldly). Nay, father, I have brought no 



250 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

shame. What right have I, with all the blood and sinews 
of a man, to sit idly down and talk of peace, when my 
countiymen east, west, north, and south, are roused to 
arms, at the encroaching of tyrann}* upon their rights 
and liberties ? I have been reared a child of peace, 
and the inward spirit now teaches me there shall be 
no peace until we, with brave, stout hearts and strong 
right arms, have taught the intruders we have the power 
to maintain it. {Comes down l.) 

Prudence {clapping her hands) . Hurray! Them's 
my sentiments. 

Mrs. S. Prudence, thee forgets thyself. — Eph- 
raim, my son, thy person needs proper care. 

Ephraim. Yea ; and I am as hungry as the bear 
that roameth the wilderness. {Enter Bosworth, door 
in flat.) 

Bosivorth. Ah, Ephraim has returned. What 
transformations here, child of Belial? 

Ephraim {stepping forward quickly). Nay, Friend 
Bosworth, thee had better keep a civil tongue in thy 
head. The fires of war are yet hot within me, and per- 
adventure thy skull ma}* open wider than tlry mouth. 

Bosworth. Dares thee threaten me ? 

Ephraim. Yea, I dare, for thee is a smooth, sneak- 
ing traitor, Friend Bosworth. {Advancing on him.) 

Obed {stepping before Bosworth). Stand back, 
Ephraim : in my house a guest is sacred. 

Prudence. Land sakes ! I never saw a man so full 
of fight. 

Ginger. Yaas. I guess dar ain't much stuffin' in his 
buzzum. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 251 

Obed. Go to tlvy room, Epkraim. When thee is 
thyself, I'll speak with thee. 

Mrs. S. Come, Ephraim, thy mother will attend 
thee. (Pats him upon the shoulder.) Thee is fiery, 
but 'tis in a good cause, and thy mother is proud of 
thee. (Exeunt Mrs. S. and Ephraim, l.) 

Ginger. Miss Prudence, can't 3 T ou find me som- 
fin to gnaw? ain't tasted noftin since breakfus. 

Prudence (coming to r. u. e.) Yes, come with me: 
I can find a cold fowl. (Exit.) 

Ginger (following). Dat's good, jes let me get 
foul of it, and gib it a burial-place. 

Bosworth. Friend Obed, I grieve with thee, that 
the child of thy faith should have gone the way of 
wickedness. 

Obed. Thee needn't trouble thyself, Friend "Bos- 
worth. Thee has sins enough of thine own to grieve 
for. The lad's spirit has been aroused, he hath found 
he has a strong arm, that his country needs him. If 
he must fight, I hops his aim will be sure, and the 
enemy bite the dust before him. 

Bosworth. Obed Sterling, is thee turning traitor 
too? Beware! thee is a marked man. Give these 
rebels sympathy even in thy thoughts, and nought can 
save thee. 

Obed. Hark thee, Friend Bosworth : thee has dared 
to threaten me before. I have borne with thee because 
thee has been our friend (fiercely) ; but, if thee dare 
use such words to me again, I will pitch thee out of 
yonder window. 

Bosivorth (aside). The old man is stubborn. I 



252 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

must dissemble. (Aloud.) Nay, nay ! Friend Obed. 
I meant not to threaten ; I would but point out to thee 
thy danger. Thee shall have all protection from me. 
Verily it would be base in me to persecute thee, when 
I love thy daughter so dearly. 

Obed. Thee has spoken with my daughter? 

Bosworth. Yea, I did urge my suit, but was inter- 
rupted by that wicked wretch, Elmer Granger. Beware 
of him. He looks upon the girl with favor. There is 
danger in his presence. Secure thy daughter's safety 
b}' giving me thy promise she shall be mine. 

Obed. I told thee I would sleep upon it. As 
thee seems in haste, we will settle the matter now. 
Here comes nry daughter. (Enter Ruth 1 e. r.) 
Ruth, child, come hither. Thee sees Friend Bosworth, 
a man of strong build, and not uncomely, of good 
report among the Friends ; not burdened with wealth, 
but active in its pursuit. He asks me to give him 
thy hand, would have thee be his wife. 

Bosworth. Yea, Ruth, I love thee with my whole 
soul. 

Obed. Speak, daughter : thy fate is in thy own 
hands. Neither thy father nor thy mother will prevent 
thy free choice. 

Ruth. Father, thee has ever been kind to me. 
Never an unkind word has thee given me. From my 
earliest days thee has been ever watchful over m}' 
thoughts and wishes. No blessing thee could be- 
stow has ever been withheld. I honor thee above all 
men. Thy judgment is so wise that thy word is law 
to me. I know Friend Bosworth professes love forme ; 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 253 

and yet nvy heart lias felt no answering thrill to his 
protestations. I shrink from his glance, and tremble 
in his presence. Na}", I will be frank. Another, with no 
words, with no entreaties, has touched a chord within my 
being that vibrates with ecstasy at his approach. He 
is of the world's people, yet brave, strong, and true. 
Yet I am but a child, and ma}' not know my own heart. 
M}* fate I leave in thy hands. Speak, father: what 
thee sa}'s shall guide me. 

Obed (takes Ruth's hand, kisses her on the forehead, 
then turns to Bos worth). Friend Bosworth, thee has 
th}' answer. (Comes to l.) 

Bosworth (c.) . Na}', this will not serve. I must have 
a plain answer, }'es, or no. 

Obed (sternly). No. A thousand times no. My 
daughter is not for such as thou. 

Bosworth. Nay, bear with me, Friend Obed. 

Obed. Na}', thy friend no more, Bosworth. I have 
borne with thee until Patience is indignant at me. 
By th}' own confession, thee is a spy ; but that I 
feared my daughter loved thee, I would have driven 
thee from my house, when thee first spoke. Now, I 
tell thee, quit nry house. 

Bosworth. Has thee forgotten I can destroy thee? 

Obed. Do thy worst. No harm can come to him 
who obeys the voice of conscience. 

Bosworth. Then, dread my vengeance. You know 
me not. You thought I was a cowardly Quaker. I 
have deceived you and your tribe. The opinions of your 
sect are known to me ; ay, and all their wealth, and 
where ' tis to be found. One motive only has kept me in 



254 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

your midst, — love for your daughter. She scorns me. ' 
Now comes my turn. I will seize, burn, destro}', till 
you shall tremble at nry name {goes to door) . You have 
need of all your caution. The hour of vengeance is 
approaching. Ruth Sterling, 3-011 tremble in nry pres- 
ence : ha, ha, ha ! Present or absent, you shall now 
tremble at the thought of me, for I swear you shall 
be mine. (Exit door in flat.) 

Ruth (running to Obed : they meet in c. of stage). 

father, father ! he terrifies me. 

Obed. Nay, fear not, child, He is a bad, wicked 
man ; but he cannot harm thee. Go to thy rest. 
(Leads her to 1 e. r.) 

Ruth. But, father, thee is grieved that I love Elmer 
Grauo-er. 

Obed (groans). He is of the world's people. The 
Friends will groan in spirit ; but thee has said, no bless- 
ing I could bestow upon thee was ever withheld. Go to 
thy rest in peace. (Exit Ruth 1 e. e.) 

Obed (groans). Verily, Friend Obed, thee is run- 
ning up a long account for settlement at Yearly Meet- 
ing. (Enter Ephraim from door l. ; costume same 
as in Act J., spruce and clean, gun in his hand.) 
Ephraim, my son, thee is not going out on the war- 
path again? 

Eph. Yea, father. Friend Elmer imiy need m} T help. 

1 go to seek him. 

Obed. Give me thy hand, Ephraim. (They shake 
hands.) It grieves me that thee is become a man of 
war ; but, if thee must go, remember the maxim of the 
world's people, " Put thy trust in Providence, and keep 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 177(5. 255 

thy powder dry." And do not forget the words of that 
brave but sinful Friend, Israel Putnam, " Wait until 
thee sees the white of their eyes." Peace go with thee, 
my son ! 

Eph {patting gun). Yea, I have it in my hands. 

Obed (groans) . Yea, Rachel is right ; but the 
women must not have it all their own way. (Exit 
l. 1 E.) 

Eph. Now I will seek Friend Elmer. (Goes up. 
Enter Prudence, door r. u. e.) 

Prudence. Ephraim, you are not going out again 
to-night ? 

Epli. Verily, Friend Prudence, it is not right that I 
should leave thy brother in the midst of wolves. I 
go to seek him. 

Prudence. O Ephraim ! you a perfect fire-eater, 
— a man that I am proud to call nry lover. 

Eph. Na}', thee is mistaken. I am no woman's 
lover. . 

Prudence. What? Didn't you make love to me 
over the washing this morning? 

Eph. Yea, I did speak some tender words of non- 
sense in thine ear. 

Prudence. In nvv ear ! Why, }'ou kissed me ! 

Eph. Yea, I did imprint the seal of friendship upon 
thy lips. But I have another mistress now. 

Prudence. You don't mean to say j'ou've fallen in 
love with another woman ! Who is she? 

Eph. My country. Thee did mock nry profession 
of peace. Thee did call me a coward. And I girded 
on my armor, and went forth to battle. 



\ 

256* ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

Prudence. Yes, I aroused the manhood within }*ou, 
and made j t ou a patriot. 

EpJi. Yea, and so filled nry heart with martial fire, 
it hath not room for any tenderer flame. If thee loves 
me, thee is to be pitied, for thee has given me to 
another and a sterner mistress. The war-drum rings 
in my ears, the flash of musketiy is before my eyes. I 
I hunger for the fight, and have no appetite for love. 
Fare thee well, Friend Prudence. If thee has lost a 
lover, thy country has found a defender. (Sings.) 

Yankee Doodle, keep it up, 

Yankee Doodle dandee; 
Mind the music and the steps, 

And leave the girls behind thee. 

{Exit door in F. 
Prudence. Well, I never ! Mittened by a Quaker ! 
I shall never hold up my head again. I've roused the 
lion, and lost the lamb ; the Quaker wasn't worth hav- 
ing, but the soldier's quite another article. Oh dear, 
dear, dear ! this comes of meddling with politics. 
Maybe he'll get shot, and I'll have his death to answer 
for. Ah Prudence ! I'm afraid you care more for this 
fellow than you dream of. (Takes up candle.') I'm 
not going to lose any sleep for him. (Crosses to r. 1 e.) 
He hungers for the fight. Ah Ephraim ! courage may 
serve you in the battle, but Prudence is a virtue not to 
be despised. (Exit 1 e.) 

(Enter Ginger r. u. e., gnawing a bone.) 
Ginger. Dah, dat ar fowl's gone to roost. I've 
cleaned the cubburd of all de eatables and drinkables. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 257 

Dunno what dej-'ll do for breakfus in de mornin, but de 
clams ob hunger must be dissatisfied if it breeds a fam- 
ine. Eberybody gone to bed, den I'll go out to de 
barn and snooze myself. Hallo, what dat? (Listens 
at door.) Sh ! clar's sumbod}' prowlin 'round de house. 
Whispers. Halt, Ginger, das mischif in de wind. 
Keep dark, honey. (Lies down behind settle. Door is 
pushed open sloivly, and Boswohth looks in, then creeps 
cautiously down, listens at door l., then goes bach to 
door in flat) and beckons.) 

(Enter Burke and Blucher, ivith guns. All three 
come dozen stage, Burke r., Blucher l., Bosworth 

c) 

Burke. Look here, Broadbrim. What kind of a job 
is this ? 

Blucher. Yes. Plunder, or murder? Speak out. 

Bosworth. Silence! (Creeps to door, l., and turns 
key.) There, I've locked in the only one from whom 
we might expect interruption, — 3'oung Sterling. He's 
had a fight to-day, so he'll sleep soundly now. 

Blucher. We can easily give him a sleeping-powder, 
if you say the words (slapping gun). 

Blucher. With a pill added that will be sure to 
quiet him. 

Bosworth. Hist! What brings you here to-night? 

Burke. It's all along of that fight at the Dutch- 
man's this morning. We were surprised b}' an infer- 
nal rebel, who drove us l^ond Carter's, until his 
comrades deserted ; and then we turned and took him. 
I wanted to swing him to a tree, but the cap'n said 
no ; he was a brave fellow, and we must take him 
17 



258 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

down to camp, and honor him with a shooting. So we 
took him down there, tied him to a tree, and went to 
supper. When supper was gone, we found the rebel 
gone also. So Blue and I were detailed to retake him. 
We tracked him to within a mile of this house, and then 
lost him. 

Bosivorth. But you are on his track now. He and the 
owner of this place, Obed Sterling, are leagued togeth- 
er. 

Blucher. Sterling ! Why, Sterling's a Quaker. 

Bosworth. He's a traitor. You know me? 

Burke, Know }'Ou, Broadbrim, the spy? Ay, we 
have orders from Cap'n Trot to obey you when the 
service requires. 

Bosivorth. Ay, I have need of you now. My orders 
from headquarters are to shoot this Sterling ; to seize 
his daughter, and take her to Carter's. 

Blucher. Oh, we don't want to meddle with girls ! 

Bosivorth. The service demands obedience. 

Blucher. All right, Broadbrim. 

Bosivorth. Then 3*011 look out for the old man, and 
I'll take care of the girl. First to arouse Sterling. 
You, Blucher, go beneath the window of his room, at 
that corner {points (0 l. 1 e.), throw up a stone ; he'll 
open the window ; tell him Friend Garner is sick and 
needs him ; that will bring him out. When he appears 
make short work of him, for he is a traitor to the king, 
and well deserves what he must receive, — instant 
death. 

Burke. Never fear. I seldom lose a shot. 

Blucher. Nor I. Old Deadeye is sure death. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 259 

Bosivorth. Be cautious. Give me ten minutes to 
secure the girl, then follow m} T instructions. 

Blacker, All right. But who pa\'s the funeral ex- 
penses ? 

BosivortJi (handing him a purse) . The King of Eng- 
land. 

Blucher (throws up purse) . Long live the king ! 

Bosivorth. Now awa}*. Hush! who's that? (En- 
ter Pretzel, door in flat. Blucher and Burke crouch 
on the floor r. and l.) 

Pretzel. Ha, ha ! Friend Sterling ; wash 3-011 op ? 
Dot is goot. I ish as try as never vas. Dose rascals 
trink op all mine peer, and I coome to get some of your 
cider. Hy ! vhat is dot? Friend Sterling, 3-011 is not 
Friend Sterling after all. 

Ginger (xieeps over settle) . By golly, dat ar Dutch- 
man in anoder scrape. 

Bosivorth. What do 3 T ou want here? 

Pretzel (shaking) . Oh, notings if 3 T on bleese. I just 
got run ober from mine house. Didn't know 3-011 had 
gompan}'. (Burke and Blucher rise, and point guns 
at him.) Mine gracious gootness, ton't 3'ou do dot 
(falls on his knees). I'm only a poor Tuchman vidout 
fader or moder. 

Bosworth. Get up, fool. 

Pretzel. Yaw, right avay put3' quick (rises). Ef 
3-011 bleese, don't explode 3-our guns mit me. I'm on3 r 
a poor — 

Bosworth. Shut up ! 

Pretzel. Yaw. I like to say notings mit nry mout 
shut. 



260 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO; 

Bosworth. Take him out and lock him in the barn. 

Pretzel. In ter parn mit ter pigs ? I don't like dot 
puty veil. 

Bosworth. Do as I bid } T ou ; if he opens his mouth, 
throw him in the horse-pond. 

Pretzel. Dot's vhat you call horspuddalfry. I don't 
like dot. 

Blucher. Come, start, Dutchy. 

Pretzel. Yaw, don't pint dem tings ; dey might go 
off. 

Burke. After you. (Pretzel backs up to door. 
Burke and Blucher follow with their guns -pointed at 
him.) 

Pretzel. Dis is too pad. You don't got some piz- 
ness here, an' I don't got mine cider. {They threaten 
him ivith guns; he exits in a hurry, followed by Blucher 
and Burke.) 

Bosivorth. Now, then, nry pretty Ruth, if }'ou 
won't be mine by fair means, }~ou shall by foul. {Creeps 
slowly to r. 1. e.) 

Ginger (rises). Der's gwine to be trouble in dis yer 
family ; it's about time I looked up Massa Eph. {Exit 
door in f.) 

Bosivorth {turning quickly) . What's that? I thought 
I heard a step. It must have been Blucher {turns to 
r.). Ah, the pretty Ruth comes this way. 'Twill 
save the trouble of calling her. {Creeps behind settle, 
and hides. Enter Ruth ivith a lighted candle: she 
places it on the table and goes to ivindow, speaking as 
she enters.) 

Ruth. I cannot go to rest while Friend Elmer is in 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 177fi. 261 

danger. If he is safe, he would have returned to see 
his sister. (Looks out of ivindow.) Nay, 'tis very 
dark. What can have become of him ! He is brave 
and noble, and his must be a good heart, it moves so 
quickly at the call of distress. I doubt if lie thinks 
of me. Wiry should he? Ah, that's a wise question, 
too profound from my head, so I'll leave the heart to 
answer it. And that says yea, as there's truth In 
his bright eyes, he does. I wish he'd-come. His sister 
must be so anxious about him, and she sleeps soundly. 
I looked in upon her : she had thrown herself dressed 
upon the bed and slept. I could not do that, and }'et 
I am so anxious ! (Bosworth rises.) Ah, who's that? 
(Comes down l.) 

Bosworth (coming down r.) One not unknown to 
you. 

Ruth. Thee here again ! 

Bosworth. Ay, m}' pretty Ruth. I could not leave 
the Quaker fold and go out among the world's people 
alone, and so I have returned for thee to bear me 
company. 

Ruth. Thee does but jest, Uriel Bosworth, and 
thy humor is so grim I like it not. 

Bosworth. No, it makes 3-011 tremble, pretty Ruth. 
Come, you must go with me. I told you you were 
very dear to me. I can't live without you. You 
have kindled a fierce passion in nry breast, — so fierce 
that, were a thousand in my path, I'd slay them all 
before I'd lose you. 

Ruth. Thee has no right to enter here. Thee is 
a base, bad man, sneaking like a thief, when darkness 



262 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

covers the earth, into the house of the man thee dares 
not face in' open da} T light. 

Bosworth. I dare face thee, Ruth — 

Rath. Ay, with a bold front but a coward heart. 
Thee is a traitor to our faith, a traitor to the cause of 
libert}', and, still greater shame, a traitor to the name 
of manhood. Get thee hence ! 

Bosworth. Ho, ho ! bravely spoken, Ruth. You 
are a girl of spirit. You are a prize worth winning. 
But you forget 3-011 are alone and unprotected. Your 
brother is securely bound, your father doomed if he 
moves from his chamber. I come not alone. 

Ruth. Thee is a brave man, Uriel Bosworth. 
Th} T tyrant master must be proud of his followers who 
war upon women. 

Bosworth. Ruth Sterling, I swear — 

Ruth. Silence ! Insult not my father's roof with 
an oath. Insult not his daughter with the profanation 
of that holy virtue which exists alone in honest hearts. 
Begone ! 

Bosworth. Not without you, Ruth. You must go 
with me. Do not compel me to use force. You are 
unprotected. 

Ruth. Stand back, traitor. My protection is there 
{points up), though dangers surround me, He will 
securely guard and guide. Stand back, and let me 
pass. {Goes towai'ds r.) 

Bosworth {seizing her wrist) . Na} T , na} T , my pretty 
Quaker. There is no escape. You must come with 
me. 

Ruth. Uriel Bosworth, release me. {Flinging off 
his hand, and going l.) 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 263 

Bosworth (comes r.) You cannot pass to 3'our cham- 
ber. Hereafter the path of life we travel together. 
Come. 

Ruth. Never. Thee has my father in thy power. 
I'll trust my fate to the darkness of the night. (Runs 
up to door in fiat.) 

Bosworth (seizing her in c. of stage). No, no, Ruth ; 
trust to the light of my love. 

Ruth (struggling to free herself) . No, no ! Rather 
death. Father ! brother ! Elmer, Elmer ! (Enter 
Elmer door in r.) 

Elmer. Here at thy call, Ruth (strikes Bosworth 
a blow in his breast ivith his fist. He staggers back and 
falls r. Ruth, ivith a cry, throws herself upon Elmer's 
breast). Lie there, dog ! — Nay, tfay, do not tremble, 
Ruth : there is no danger. 

Bosworth (springing to his feet). You lie, you curs- 
ed rebel ! The house is surrounded by nry friends. 
There is danger to you. Your fate is sealed. Release 
that girl ! 

Elmer (quietly). Certainty, if she desires it. 

Ruth (clinging to him). Na} T , nay, Friend Elmer. 

Elmer (ivith his arms about her). You see she is 
contented here. (Cooly.) And I rather like it, Friend 
Bosworth. 

Bosworth. I'll tear her from thee. (Rushing at him. 
Elmer quietly infolds her with his left arm, and seizes 
the right ivrist of Bosworth.) 

Elmer (fiercely). Dare to profane her with thy 
dastard hand, and I'll tear — (starting, and glancing at 
hand). Ah! what is this? (Steps in front of Ruth, 



264 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO ; 

still grasping Bosworth's ivrist.) A blood-red scar 
across the hand (looks inquiringly at Bosworth's face) . 
Yes, yes, despite the shaven face, the Quaker garb, I 
know thee now, Richard Cross, my mother's murderer. 
(Flings Bosworth back to r.) 

Bosworth. 'Tis false ; we never met until this day. 

Elmer. But once : the day } r ou outraged mankind 
by a deed so coldly cruel that fiends would blush to 
own it. For a 3-ear I have sought you, Richard Cross, 
in town and country, midst nvy country's foes; a}', 
turned the dead upon the field of battle that I might 
find that bloody mark upon a lifeless hand and know 
my mother's murder was avenged. At last we meet. 
Heaven has reserved thee for a son's avenging hand. 
Richard Cross, but one of us must quit this place alive. 
(Approaches him.) 

Bosworth (aloud) . Stand back ! my friends are at 
my call. Hallo, Burke ! 

Elmer (seizing him by the throat) . Too late ! too 
late ! Dog, }'Ou must die. 

Bosworth. Take off your hand ! (Struggle.) 

Buth(j..). Elmer, forbear. (Elmer and Bosworth, 
ivho have been struggling , pause ivith their hands on each 
other.) Respect my father's roof. This is a home of 
peace, let no unhallowed deed pollute its fair fame. 
Thy mother is an angel now ; and vengeance, by the 
will of heaven, wields its own power in the guilty 
breast, to punish and destiw. 

Elmer. You are right, Ruth. This house shall be 
respected. (Flings Bosworth back r.) Richard 
Cross, the girl you have insulted saves } T ou now ; but 
beware ! your fate is sealed whene'er we meet again. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 265 

Bosworth. And yours is already sealed. (Takes a 
knife from his bosom, and rushes at Elmer, c. Elmer 
steps r., puts up his left arm, and receives the*'bloiv.) 

Elmer (seizing his own left arm ivith his right). Ah ! 
(Staggers to r.) 

Bosworth (running up to door l.) Curse the luck ! 
Yet, though my hand has failed, you are doomed. 
Fool, }'OU know me not ; I did strike down } T our mother, 
and I gloiy in the deed. You have stepped between 
me and the woman there ; but she is mine, and you 
this night shall keep your mother company. (Exit 
lloor in flat,) 

Ruth (running to Elmer). Thee is sorely hurt, 
rlear Elmer. 

Elmer. Na} T , 'tis but a scratch. (Report of two 
pins in quick succession outside.) Ah, what's that? 

Bosworth (outside) . Oh ! Fools, you have slain your 
leader. 

Elmer. Even so, the wretch has fallen into his own 
trap. You were right, Ruth : vengeance alone belong- 
eth to Him. (Enter door in flat, Ephraim with gun. 
Jle stands it beside ivindoiv.) 

Ephraim. Yea, verity, Friend Bosworth lieth in the 
/oad, with two bullets in his bocly ; and, in the lan- 
guage of the world's people, he is as dead as a door- 
nail. (Enter r., Prudence. She crosses to l.) 

Prudence. "What on earth is all this racket about? 
(Enter Obed, l., followed by Mrs. S. ; he in his shirt- 
sleeves; she with a short nightdress over dark petticoat, 
nightcap on her head.) 

Obed. Verily, the foe is upon us. 



266 ONE HUNDKED YEARS AGO ; 

Mrs. S. Children, what does this mean? 

Elmer. Simply* Friend Obed, that the wolf in 
sheep's clothing, known to you as Uriel Bosworth, has 
invaded }'our home with the design of carrying off your 
daughter. 

Ruth. Yea, and the brave Friend Elmer hath de- 
fended thy daughter with an arm of power and a heart 
of steel. 

Obed. Verily, we owe thanks to our brave defender, 
and our daughter will prize him as a dear friend. 

Elmer. May I not hope to find a warmer place 
in } r onr affections, Ruth? 

Ruth. Yea, thee is so brave and powerful that no 
place thou wi sliest can be too strong for thee. 

Obed. Yea, verily, this sounds very much like love 
(groans) . What will the Friends say ? 

Mrs. S. Never thee trouble tlryself about the 
Friends, Obed. The }~oung people will settle their 
affairs without their aid. 

Ephraim (l.). Yea, it is not good for man to be 
alone, and my heart warmeth to one of the fair sex 
among the world's people. 

Obed (a). Thou, Ephraim? Profanation upon pro- 
fanation . ( Groa ns.) 

Ephraim. Yea, I have been taught the rules of war 
by her, and with her I would walk the flowery paths of 
peace. Her name is Prudence, and her features are 
conaely. 

Prudence. Well, I never ! And you sacked me an 
hour as:o. 

Ephraim. Yea, and in sackcloth and ashes have I 
repented. 



OR, OUR BOYS OF 1776. 267 

Obed. Verity, this is too much. We shall all be 
disowned. (Groans.) We would give our lamb to the 
sacrifice, and now — 

Mrs. S. Verily, Obed, we might as well be hung for 
a sheep as a lamb. 

Obed. Yea, verily. (Groans.) 

(Distant fife and drum heard; distant report of mus- 
ketry, with cheers and ringing of bells. ) 

Ginger (outside) . Hooray ! hooray ! (runs in door 
in fiat). D'ye hear dat? Dey's gone and done it. 
Yas indeed. Down dar to Filledel. De} T 's 'dopted de 
declamation of jurisprudence ; an' — ' an — de country 
am free. Yas it am. By golly, I's gwine to make one 
explosion. (Iiuns to tvindoiv, throios it uj), takes gun, 
X>oints it out, and fires; gun kicks him over on to floor .) 
We'se free ! we'se free ! 

Pretzel (outside). Oh, mine gracious, mine het pes 
plown into der mittle of der week pefore next. (En- 
ters door in flat holding on to his head.) 

Ginger. Golly, dat ar Tuchman's for ebber and ebber 
layin' round loose. 

Pretzel (comes doivn) . Mine het is full of pullets, 
unt mine prains is full of mine poots. 

Ginger. Yah, yah ! dat ain't nuffin, Massa Pretzel ; 
dat's only a salute (goes down extreme l.). 

Pretzel (goes down n.). Salute? Dot's vat } T ou call 
him. He purn my e} T eprows off mit his nonsense. Dot 
is no goot. 

Ginger. Burn your ej-ebrows off; yah, yah ! Yas, 
so you can see de glorious orb of liberty breaking — 

Pretzel. Yaw, let him preak ; he don't owe me 
sometings pretty much. 



268 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

Elmer (takes Ruth toe). Yes, the day of liberty 
is breaking. The title-deed to a land of freedom has 
this day been taken by patriots whose dauntless valor 
shall rouse a people to battle against the invaders of 
our soil, until paeans of victory shall ring from shore 
to shore, and peace, with all its joys, nestle contented 
in the protecting arms of a free and powerful nation. 

c. 



Elmer. 


Ruth. 


R. Obed. 


- Ephraim. l. 


Mrs. S. 


Prudence. 


Pretzel. 


Ginger. 



(Red fire behind flat for bonfire; bells ringing, guns 
firing, people shouting. Curtain.) 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 



A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS. 



CHARACTERS. 

John Nutter, a Shoemaker. 
Will Nutter, his Son. 
Ned Hartshorn, his Apprentice. 
Henry Douglas, a Spendthrift. 
Jarius Jordan, a Yankee Speculator. 
Hannah Nutter, John's Wife. 
Mart Nutter, John's Daughter. 
Sally Peeslee, Yankee Help. 



COSTUMES. 

John. Act 1, Bald, gray wig, gray side whiskers, dark pants, 
colored shirt, sleeves rolled up, leather apron. Act 2, Drab 
clothes, calico dressing gown. Act 3, same as Act 2. 

Will. Act 1, Dark pants, colored shirt, sleeves rolled up, 
leather apron, short coat to put on. Act 2, Rusty velvet coat, 
flaming necktie, dark pants and vest, gold chain, jockey cap, 
all soiled and worn. Act 3, Neat and tasty dress. 

Ned. Act 1, About the same as Will's. Act 2, Dark pants, 
white shirt, with black tie, dressing-gown. Act 3, Neat busi- 
ness suit. 

269 



270 THE LITTLE BROWN JTTG. 

Douglas. Fashionable dress for each act. Liberal display 
of jewelry. Kids, hat, and cane. 

Jarius. Act 1, Rusty dark pants, very short, swallow-tailed blue 
coat, long red hair, shocking bad hat, unblacked boots. Act 
2 and 3, Good business suits and hats, neatly arranged hair, 
polished boots, dress not dandified", but neat and substantial. 

Hannah. Act 1 and 2, Plain calico dresses. Act 3, white dress. 

Mart. Act 1, Red or brown dress, white collar, neat apron, 
sleeves rolled up. Act 2, Figured muslin. Act 3, White. 

Sally. Act 1, Calico dress, white collar and cuffs, bonnet or 
hat. Acts 2 and 3, Neat calico or muslin. 



Act 1. Scene. — Nutter's Shop. Door, c, open, l. 
of door, against flat, shoemaker's bench, on which sits 
■ Nutter, at work. Bench, r., on which Ned Harts- 
horn is at work. Bench, l., on which Will Nutter 
is at work. Jarius Jordan seated on a block, r. c, 
with his hat on, whittling, with a stick and large jack- 
knife. 

John. Wal, neow, Jarius, depend upon it, there's 
nothin' like a stiddy, in-door-work life to give a man 
position in the world. Yeou city fellers may do all 
the schemin' yeou like ; but when the time comes for 
action, it's the farmers and the shoemakers that find the 
bone and sinew to keep the world a joggin, whether in 
provisions or politics. You peddle, and we provide ; you 
scheme, and we vote. My grandsir was a shoemaker, 
so was my daddy, so am I, and I mean that my boy 
Will, there, shall foller in the footsteps of his father. 
P'raps ? tain't what you might call a high calling ; but 
boots and shoes, taps and patches, are always wanted, and 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 271 

will be jest as long as generation succeeds gineration ; 
and when you've got a trade like mine, p'raps you can't 
hoard up much money, but you've got a sure hold on the 
staff of life. 

Jarius. Jes' so, John, jes' so ; that's mighty good 
argifying, if a feller critter hain't got no soul above peg- 
gin' souls. But that air Will of yourn has got the city 
fever the wust kind. lie's hankering for a chance to try 
his fortune among the money-catchers. Consarn it, give 
the boy a chance. There's no hay-seed in his hair. 

Will. That's right, Jarius ; peg away. I never shall 
take kindly to this work. Hammer and sew, patch and 
peg. Bah ! I'm tired of it ! It's so awful slow ! I want 
to see the world, rub elbows with bustling fellows, set my 
wits at work, use my tongue, wrestle with sharp ones for 
the best end of a bargain. That's life ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. You're a lively young colt — you 
are. It's a shame you can't have a prance in the city. 

John. Yes ; you're a pretty chap to set a lad's head 
a whizzing — you are, Jarius Jordan. You've been 
everything by turn, and nothing long. 

Jarius. Jes' so, John, jes so. But I calkilate that 
with every turn I've give myself a h'ist in the world, any- 
how. I've peddled tin ware, wooden ware, hardware, 
everywhere. I've swapped horses, traded in cattle, druv 
hogs, and raised poultry. I've invented cotton gins, reap- 
ers, and mowers, cider presses and match safes, travelled 
with pictures, poetry books, stationery, and Bibles. I've 
dug gold, mined copper, and bored ile ; lit Ingins, Mexi- 
cans, and sesesh ; kept school, led a choir, taught singing- 
school, baen a deacon in regular standing. I've been a 



272 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

printer, a book-binder, a counter-jumper, and an insur* 
ance agent, and other things too numerous to mention. 
There's three things I never took a hand in — swearin', 
lyin', and drinkin'. I've got a clean conscience and a 
bank-book full of figgers. I despise meanness, hate 
misers, and am down on rascality like all possessed. So, 
you see, John, with all my rolling, I've gathered some 
moss, and am none the avuss for it. 

Will. No, indeed. There's not a better fellow living 
than Jarius Jordan. 

Jarius. O, git eout ! Don't yeou go to tootin' the 
horn. 

Ned. It's the truth. 'Twould have been a hard win- 
ter for widow Black, but for the kind care Jarius Jordan 
bestowed upon her. 

Jarius. Sho ! Don't you tell tales out of school, 
young feller. 

Will. Then there's old Pearson. "Who'd have kept 
him out of the poor-house, when he broke his leg, if Ja- 
rius Jordan hadn't stepped in, housed him all winter, and 
paid the doctor's bill ? 

Jarius. O, go along ! D'ye want to spile my com- 
plexion? Now, John, you just give Will a chance. 
You'll never regret it. 

John. I tell you, what's good enough for the old man 
is good enough for the boy. I'll never give my consent 
to his going into the city — never. I'm not going to send 
my boy into that sink of iniquity, to be overcome by 
temptation. So you jest shut up, Jarius. I've got an 
awful temper, and if you rile me, I won't answer for the 
consequences. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 273 

Jarius. Jes* so. But, speaking of temptations — 
Enter Hannah, l., with a small brown jug. 

Hannah. Here, father, here's your " 'leven o'clock/ 

John. {Dropping his work, and taking the jug.) Ah, 
that's good. 

Hannah. Why, law sakes,Mr. Jerden!* How do you 
do ? The sight of you's good for sore eyes. 

Jarius. Thank you, marm. I'm pretty well, consid- 
erin'. Hope you're hearty. 

Hannah. Me ? Sakes alive ! I never had an ache 
or a pain in my life, and I'm goin' on for sixty. There's 
nothin' like good, wholesome work to keep off sickness. 

Jarius. Jes so, Mrs. Nutter. 

" Rubbin' and scrubbin' 
Gives rust a drubbin'." 

John. {After a long pull at the jug.) Ah, that's good ! 
The raal Holland, sweetened to taste, and rousing hot ! 
Take a pull, Jarius? 

Jarius. No, I thank ye. 

John. {Takes a drink.) Ah! Here, Will. {Passes 
jug to Will, who grasps it eagerly, and drinks.) 

Jarius. Sho ! Yeou ain't a going to drink that stuff! 

Will Stuff? Hullo ! 

John. Stuff? Hear the critter ! 

Hannah. Stuff, indeed ! When I mixed it myself, 
and in the little brown jug, that's been in the family 
years and years ! 

* Hannah and Sally rbould follow this pronunciation. 
18 



274 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Jarius. Jes' so. The jug is a relic? 

Hannah. Yes, indeed ; and we wouldn't part with it 
for the world. It's been handed down from father to 
son ever since the first Nutter landed in America. 

John, And used year in and year out. It's seasoned 
with the good grog of five generations. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Seen some tight times, I reckon. 
Come, Ned, it's your turn. 

Ned. No, I thank you. I never drink. 

Will. (Drinks.) No? I stand his watch. 

Jarius. Jes' so. So Ned don't like it, hey ? 

Ned. Ned never tasted it, Mr. Jordan. My poor 
mother's last request was that I should never touch it. 
Don't you think a mother's last request should be sa- 
cred? 

Jarius. Don't I ? As sacred as the family Bible. 

Ned. As sacred as the memory of the loved and lost. 
I had a good mother, Mr. Jordan. 

Jarius. * Jes so. You show it. 

Hannah. Yes, indeed ; a poor, hard-working woman 
was Marcy Hartshorn : the best washer and ironer in the 
place ; and such a cook ! Her pies would make your 
mouth water. And turnovers ! the young ones would 
cry for them. O, dear ! such a pity she threw herself 
away on that drunken sot — Jim Hartshorn. Why, when 
he died — 

John. Hush, mother, hush ! 

Hannah. Doar me ! I forgot. But it always makes 
me mad when I think — (sniffs). Bless me! What's 
that? (Sniffs.) I smell something. 

Jarius. Jes' so — gin and sugar. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 275 

Hannah. It's my pies a-burning, as sure as I live ! 
Aud I here gossiping. O, dear ! there's a whole oven- 
ful spoiled by my neglect ! [Exit, l. 

John. Don't mind her, Ned. She didn't mean to hurt 
your feelings. She'd do anything in the world for you. 

Ned. I know she would. Heaven bless her ! You 
see, Mr. Jordan, liquor has left a stain on my family 
name ; and I'm not likely to be friendly with it. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Stick to the last request, young fel- 
ler, and you'll wipe it out. And if ever you want a 
friend, don't forget the undersigned, Jarius Jordan, for 
you'll find him on hand, like a picked-up dinner. 

John. There ; that job's done. Here, Will, drop that 
jug. It's a leetle strong to-day. Put on your coat, and 
take these shoes to Mrs. Douglas. 

Will. (Rises while speaking, takes off apron, puts on 
coat and hat, sets the jug on the floor beside John Nut- 
ter's bench.) That's just the job for me. Hen Douglas 
sent me word he wanted to see me. So I can kill two 
birds with one stone. (Takes shoes.) The Holland is a 
leetle strong, and no mistake. [Exit, c. 

Jarius. See here, John Nutter, I'm a b'ilin' and a 
b'ilin', an* if I don't let off steam, there'll be a case of 
spontaneous combustion in my in'ards. You're a good 
deal older than I am ; but we've been good friends ever 
since I was knee high to a woodchuck ; so, hear me fust, 
and lick me arterwards, if you don't like it. Here you've 
been a talking about the temptations of the city, aud put- 
ting that inter your boy's mouth that will work his etarna] 
destruction ! Your little brown jug will be his evil 
genius. Mind what I say. He hankers arter it now ; 



276 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

and you, here in the country, are tempting him, and 
making an appetite that'll eat him up soul and body. 
And now he's off to meet that air Douglas, who always 
has a bottle at his elbow. He's a dangerous chap. 

John. Much you know about it. He's Will's friend. 
He's taken a shine to him, and, if I'd say the word, would 
give him a great lift in the city. He's a well-meaning 
chap, that Douglas. He's got a rich father, and need not 
work. He's well edicated, and has got good manners. 
Will's all the better for being in company with such a man. 
As for the little brown jug, don't abuse that. It never 
did me any harm, and I was as young as Will when I 
took my first pull at it. So, don't you meddle, Jarius. 
When I find things going wrong in my family, I'll take 
'em in hand myself. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Look here, John. I've taken a # 
fancy to that boy myself. Give me his time, and I'll 
put in your hand, to-day, five hundred dollars, and guar- 
antee yom a thousand more, if I don't make a man of him 
when he's twenty-one. 

John. {Rising.) You can't have him. I've just had 
enough of your meddling. If I wanted him to go, I'd 
make terms with Mr. Douglas, and not you. He shall 
never go with my leave ; and he knows that if he goes 
without, he never returns here. You're pretty flush with 
your money, Jarius, but you haven't enough to buy 
that boy's time, nor logic enough, sharp as you think 
yourself, to turn my purpose. [Exit, L. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Stubborn as a mule. Douglas will 
get that boy in spite of thunder. I do hate to see that 
young feller go to the dogs ; as he's sure to do if some- 



THE LITTLE BHOWN JUG. 277 

thing don't hinder. He's jest the chap to go into S tin- 
sou's good graces, and gain a complete knowledge of 
agricultural implements iu his concern, and jest the lad 
to keep a sharp eye on my interest in the patent reaper. 
I do hate to get eucred ; but old Nutter's a hard lot 
when he gets his back up. 

Enter Sally, c. 

Sally. Goodness gracious ! If I've been here once, 
I've been here twenty times for Mrs. Douglas's shoes, 
and she ravin' distracted about 'em ! Such a dawdlin' 
set as you shoemakers are ! — Sakes, Mr. Jerden, heow 
dew yeou dew? I didn't see yeou before. 

Jarius. (On her entrance puts up his knife, takes off 
his hat, and tries to smooth his hair, and appears very 
sheepish and awkward while she remains.) Jes' so, Miss 
Higgins ; business first, and pleasure arterwards. 

Ned. Don't fret about the shoes, Sally. Will has just 
taken them to the house. 

Sally. Well, thank goodness, that's settled. 

Jarius. Heow's yeour marm, Miss Peeslee? 

Sally. Rather peaked, Mr. Jerden ; and jest when I 
ought to be at home, I'm kept at the big house and worked 
like a dog. Such a set of cross-grained folks you never 
did see. Old Mr. Douglas as proud and stiff as a gran- 
nydear, Mrs. Douglas frettin' aud worryin' the livelong 
day about nothin', and that good-for-nothin' Hen of theirs 
a carryin' on all sorts of didos. He and the old gentle- 
man had an awful quarrel this mornin'. Somehow Mr. 
Douglas got it into his head that Hen was sparking Mary 



278 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Nutter in airnest. Don't believe such a notion ever en- 
tered the feller's head afore. He's only fiirtin' with her, 
same as he has with twenty other girls ; but, to spite the 
old man, he swore — O, awful ! — he'd marry her, if he 
was turned out of doors for it. 

Ned. He marry our Mary ! 

Sally. Why not? He's none too good for her. 

Ned. She's too good for him. 

Sally. Why, Ned, you ain't sweet on her — are 
you? 

Ned. Me? I should not dare. But he's a worthless 
spendthrift, thinks only of his own pleasure, regardless 
of others' feelings, selfish, dissipated, cunning, and crafty. 
He marry Mary ! Heaven forbid ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. He cuts a mighty big swell on an 
awful small capital. 

Sally. He's good looking, and that goes a long way 
with girls. I don't think Mary woald break her heart 
if she knew she was to be his wife. 

Ned, No ; but, once in his possession, he would break 
it. Many whispers of his wild life in the city have been 
blown to our ears, 

Sally, He's a communion merchant — ain't he? 

Ned. A commission merchant, Sally. 

Jarius. Jes' so. I've heard of him. He's got a 
a shingle, a desk, and a chair. The shingle hangs at 
the door ; he sits in the chair and watches his le^s on 
the desk, through tobacco smoke ; and that's the extent 
of his business. 

Sally. He wants to take Will Nutter off there, to 
learn the business. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 279 

Jarius. Jes' so. And, with the edication he's receiv- 
ing here, he'll make a capital assistant in the smoking de« 
partment. 

Sally. Land sakes ! I can't stop here spinning shop 
yarn. Good by. Nothing new — is there? I haven't 
been out of the house for a week. 

Jarius. Nothing special, Miss Peeslee. Harris has 
lost the suit and the cow. 

Sally. I want to know ! 

Jarius. Mrs. Prime as buried her husband last week ; 
has gone to Jarsey to modify her grief. 

Sally. Poor Mrs. Prime ! How I pity her ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. She lost a prime husband, that's a 
fact. He was the best feller on a fishing frolic you 
ever see. Parson Lucas has resigned, and they do say 
the parish is resigned to his resigning, too. 'They've got 
a new bell-rope onto the second parish. Mrs. Jones's 
expectations has turned out a bouncing boy — 

Sally. What! another? 

Jarius. That's what they say. Molly Moses had a 
candy scrape last night, and Si Jones went home with his 
hair full. Bunsen has got a new lot of calicoes — prime 
ones, fast colors. And Joe Britton has killed his hog. 
But there's no news. 

Sally. No weddin', no nothin'? I don't hear anythin' 
about your marriage, Mr. Jerden. 

Jarius. Don't you ? Well, that's queer. I ben about 
it every time I come home. But it's all talk and no cider. 
No, Miss Peeslee, I'm an unpiucked apple on the tree 
of life. But, to return the compliment, I don't hear nothin' 
'bout your gittin' spliced. 



280 THE LITTLE BEOWK JUG. 

Sally. Me? I guess not. It's time enough to think 
about that when mother is able to take care of herself. 
I won't say I haven't had a chance, -Mr. Jerden ; but my 
first duty is to her ; and I mean to work my fingers to 
the bone, if need be, that the old home may shelter her 
as long as she lives. 

Jarius. Jes' so. So you gave Si Slocum the mitten? 

Sally. Yes, I did, — the worthless scamp ! 

Jarius. Then Deacon Sassafras wanted you to take 
the place of his late departed — didn't he ? 

Sally. He wanted a drudge, the mean old skinflint ! 

Jarius. Why, he's rich — the deacon is. 

Sally. But awful mean. I don't see how they trust 
him up behind the singing-seats with the contribution 
box Sundays. I wouldn't. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Josh Higgins was kinder smitten 
one time — hey, Miss Peeslee. 

Sally. Well, p'raps he was, and p'raps he wasn't. He 
was too much smitten with whiskey for me. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Well, Sally — MissPeeslee- — you're 
a smart gal ; and if -I want so pesky busy with my new 
reaper — I'd — I'd — 

Sally. Well, what would you do, Mr. Jerden? 

Jarius. I'd jest look round and pick out a smart hus- 
band for you. 

Sally. You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Jerden. I 
can pick for myself when I git ready. Better be lookin' 
out for yourself. You do want slicking up, and a wife 
would soon reduce that crop of hair to its proper dimen- 
sions, mend that hole in your elbow, iron out that ruf- 
fled, seedy-looking hat, and find a blacking-brush for 



THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 281 

those rusty boots. If I wasn't so busy, Jarius — Mr. 
Jerden — I'd look round and find you a wife, for you do 
need one awfully. [Exit, c. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Neow there's a gal I've been han- 
kerin' arter for five years, and never so much as dared 
ask her to lecter or singin'-school. Consarn it, Jarius, 
you're a mealy-mouthed critter among the gals, smart as 
you are at tradin' and swappin'. It's no sorter use ; the 
minute that gal comes a-near me, there's a sinkin' at my 
stomach that no end of vittles can't fill up. Smart? 
Why, she beats all nater ; and I kinder think she likes 
me, and gin those chaps the go-by on my account. Come, 
come, Jarius, spunk up ! Don't be a fool ! Say the 
word, and she's yourn for better or for wus. I'll put 
arter her, and spit it out to once. (Goes to door, c.) 

Enter Sally, c. 

Sally. Here, Ned ; I forgot to pay for the boots. 
(Gives money.") 

Ned. One dollar. All right. Thank you, Sally. 

Sally. Was you going my way, Mr. Jerden ? 

Jarius. Yes — no — no. I was going to see Joe 
Bristles' hog. 

Sally. O, yes. " Birds of a feather," you know. 

[Exit, c. to r. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Consarn it, Jarius, you are a hog, 
and no mistake. [Exit c. to l. 

Ned. Hen Douglas marry Mary Nutter ! O, Heaven 
forbid ! What a dear good girl she is ! The sound of 
her voice, as she merrily sings at her work, sets my ham- 
mer flying glibly, and my heart beating quickly, too. 



282 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

'Twill be called a good match, for lie has money, and she 
is the most capable girl in the place. She would grace 
the handsomest house that his money could furnish. But 
could he make her happy? He, with his foppish airs, 
his love of display, delight in reckless dissipation ! No, 
no. He would tire of her in a week, and then, with some 
new fancy luring him, turn coldly from her, perhaps 
abuse her, and break her heart. Break her heart ! O, 
Mary, Mary ! For the first time in my life I long for 
wealth, for then I should have the power to enter the 
field, and, if I could not win you for myself, at least save 
you from a heartless man. 
Mary. (Outside, l., sings.) 

11 Come, arouse thee, arouse thee, 
My merry Swiss maid ; 
Take thy pail, and to labor away." 

E 'liter ', l., with pail. 

Ah, Ned, all alone, and still at work? The old adage 
will never do for you — - " When the cat's away, the mice 
will plav." 

Ned. No, indeed, Mary. I like work too well to 
slight it when the master's eye is not upon me. It's such 
a jolly companion ! With every peg I drive away 
poverty ; with every punch of my awl I see success ; 
with every pull of the threads I gain a long pull and a 
strong pull up the ladder of life. O, work is a man's 
best friend, and when he turns his back upon that, he 
richly deserves what he is sure to get — a gloomy life and 
a nameless grave. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 283 

Mary. Well done, Ned ! 

" With bench for horse, and awl for lance, 
Through stubborn leather you gayly prance ; 
Sbouting your war-cry, with cheery ring, 
'Make way, make way for the shoemaker king! ' " 

Ned. Mary, Mary, don't laugh at me ! 

Mary. Laugh at you ? No, indeed ; not I. You 
were philosophical, so I, to keep you company, became 
poetical. But you're right, Ned, as you always are. 
Work has been your best frieud, for it has enabled all 
of us to find in you its best companion — merit. 

Ned. Ah ! thank you, Mary. If you only knew how 
proud I feel to hear you praise me ! 

Mary. If I did? Why, then, I suppose I should 
feel it my duty to be silent. So don't let me know it. 
Good by. 

Ned. Where are you going? 

Mary. To the well for water. 

Ned. No; I'll go for you. (Jumping up.) Give me 
the pail. 

Mary. Thank you. (Gives pail. Ned goes to door.) 
I say, Ned, ain't you afraid to leave your awl behind? 

Ned. (At door.) Mary, you're laughing at me. — 
(Aside.) She little knows I leave my all — my heart — 
behind. [Exit, l. 

Alary. (Sits on bench.) Dear fellow ! What a shame 
his father turned out so bad ! And no mother to care 
for him ! (Takes up lapstone and strap.) I wonder 
what kind of a shoemaker I should make ! (Takes awl.) 
Dear me, I've pricked my finger ! Where's the hammer? 



284 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

O, here it is. I don't believe it's very hard work to mend 
a shoe. As he is doing my work, I should be doing his. 
I wonder where he left off! 

Enter Douglas, c. 

Douglas. Beautiful, beautiful ! 

" She had a hammer in her hand, 
The day when first we met." 

Mary. (Jumping up.) Mr. Douglas ! 

Douglas. Ah, Mary, I've caught you cobbling. 

Mary. No, you haven't, for I hadn't commenced. 

Douglas. So, so, the pretty Mary has turned cobbler ! 

Mary. The pretty Mary has done nothing of the 
kind. She was only amusing herself while waiting — 

Douglas, For me — - her adorer, who languishes in her 
absence, and whose heart beats with rapture at sight of 
her beautiful face. 

Mary. Don't, Henry, be so sentimental. You know 
I don't like it. Why not say, plain and plump, " I'm 
glad to see you ! " instead of all that palaver about lan- 
guish and heart-beats ? You know I don't like it. 

Douglas. O, you don't ? Then hereafter this raptur- 
ous — 

Mary. Henry ! 

Douglas. Mary, I've done. But what in the world 
were you doing on that dirty bench ? 

Mary. Well, I never ! Dirty, indeed ! Sit down 
there at once ! 

Douglas. What! I? You're joking. 

Mary. Very well, if you don't choose to obey me, I'm 
off to my work. (Going, i.) 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 285 

Douglas. O, very well, if you mean it. (Sits on 
bench.) 

Mary. Now, Henry, I've made a vow that I will 
never marry a man who cannot mend a shoe. I've just 
made it. And if you have any expectation of making 
me your wife, the sooner you learn the trade the better. 

Douglas. Well, that's a capital joke, and, egad, I'll 
humor it. So here goes. {Takes up lapstone. Drops it 
on his toes.) O, murder ! I've smashed my toe ! 

Mary. No matter. Try again. 

Douglas. To smash another? No, I thank you. 
{Puts lapstone in lap.) There, that's all right. {Takes 
up shoe, puts strap over it.) How's that? 

Mary. Beautiful. You were born to be a shoe- 
maker. 

Douglas. I hope not. (Takes pegs and hammer.) 
Now, to drive my first peg. (Strikes his fingers. Ned 
appears at doorway with pail.) O, murder ! I've 
smashed my thumb ! 

Ned. Served you right, meddler. 

Douglas. (Starts up.) Sir! What's that? 

Ned. The truth. You're meddling with my tools ; 
and if you're not out of this place in three seconds, I'll 
wallop you. 

Mary. O, Ned, Ned ! it's all my fault. I set him to 
work. 

Ned. O, indeed ! That's quite another matter. But 
he can't stay on my bench. 

Douglas. If you're not more civil, you won't stay on 
it long. Mind that, Master Ned. 

Ned. What d'ye mean? 



286 THE LITTLE BEOYfN JUG. 

Mary. Now, don't quarrel. Bring the pail in for me, 
Ned. — Mr. Douglas, I'll give you a lesson another 
time. [Exit, l. 

Ned. Lesson, indeed ! You work with your white 
hands ! Bah, you couldn't earn your salt ! [Exit, l. 

Douglas. Confound that fellow, he puts on more airs 
than a nabob ! He's in the way. Mary is too fond of 
him ; and he, with that jealous glitter in his eye, too 
much in love with her for my comfort. He must be got 
rid of. Pshaw, Douglas ! What chance could a poor 
journeyman shoemaker have with the lady of your 
choice? Rich, accomplished, by no means a bad-looking 
fellow, the whole family would be delighted to gain so 
distinguished a connection. And she, I know, looks upon 
me with favor. I have only to gain the old man's con- 
sent. And that's an easy matter. Still, I don't like the 
idea of this fellow's presence. He must be got rid of. 
But how ? Will ! Ah, there's a ready tool. I want 
him in the city. There's a little sharp practice in which 
I want a second hand to work ; and Will's the lad. If I 
can only get him to pick a quarrel with Ned Hartshorn, 
bring them to blows, and thus arouse the old man's tem- 
per, they'll both be turned out of doors. Will would be 
mine, and the other out of the way. 
Will. ( Outside. Sings.) 

" My wife and I live all alone, 
In the little brown house we call our own ; 
She," &c. 

Enters, C, intoxicated. 

Hullo, Hen ! How are you, Hen ? I've been looking 

for you — I have. Wan't at home. But the bottle was. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 287 

I found it in the old spot, so I drank your health. 
" Here's to Hen Douglas. Hip, hip, hooray ! " Hullo, 
there's the little brown jug ! I'll drink your health again. 
Hip, hip, hooray ! (Drinks.) I say ! what's the mat- 
ter with you? 

Douglas. I have been insulted. 

Will. Been what? Say that again. Show me the 
man, woman, or child that has insulted Hen Douglas, — ■ 
hip, hip, hooray ! — and I'll — I'll wipe him out. Fetch 'em 
on, one at a time, or all together. I'm the friend of the 
oppressed — lam. Feel my muscle ! so don't you be 
afraid. Say, who's the feller or fellerers ? 

Douglas, Fellow, indeed ! That miserable whelp, Ned 
Hartshorn, here in this place, and in the presence of 
your sister. But I've done with you all. I'll not be dis- 
graced by such associates. Good by, Will. You Hike, 
and if ever you get into trouble, come to me in the city, 
and I'll stand your friend. 

Will. Say ! hold on ! Let's settle this thing. You 
shall have satisfaction. If Ned Hartshorn has dared to 
insult my friend, — my friend, Hen Douglas; hip, hip, 
hooray ! — I'll trounce him. Now you just wait and see 
me do it. Going to the city ? All right. I'll go with 
you, spite of the old man. 

Douglas. No, no, dont pick a quarrel on my account. 
Perhaps he didn't mean to insult me. Perhaps he was 
blinded by his love for your sister. 

Will. What? Ned Hartshorn in love with my sister ! 
I'll trounce him for that. Now you see me do it. Insult 
my friend, and in love with my sister ! O, I'll fix him I 

Douglas. Hush ! Here he is. 



288 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Enter Ned, l. 

Ned. Ah, Will, back again? 

Will. Ay, back again, you sneaking thief! 

Ned. How, Will ? You forget yourself. 

Will. Indeed ! You forgot yourself when you made 
love to my sister and insulted my friend, you mean, con- 
temptible sneak ! 

Ned. Will, you've been drinking. 

Will. (Throws off his coat.) You're right. I've 
just enough liquid lightning in my hide to rouse my 
manhood. You've insulted my friend. Beg his pardon 
at once. 

Ned. I shall do nothing of the kind. If he has told 
you I insulted him, he must have told you, also, that I 
made love to your sister ; and he's a liar. 

Douglas. Liar ? This to me ? 

Ned. Ay, to you. 'Tis you who have turned Will's 
head, you who have tempted him to drink, you who, with 
a lying tongue, now seek to make us quarrel. Bah ! 
you're a coward! You dare not face me yourself; you 
dare not ask me to beg your pardon ; for, if you did, you 
know I'd knock you down quicker than I did when you 
insulted Patty Moore. 

Will. But I dare, and mean you shall. So, solemn, 
pious, temperate Ned Hartshorn, obey at once ! 

Ned. Will, I'd do anything in reason to oblige you. 
But I can't do that. 

Will. Then. I'll thrash you within an inch of your 
life. 

Ned. O no, you won't, Will. 

Will. I say I will, sneak, coward, son of a drunkard ! 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 289 

Ned. Careful, Will, careful ! 

Will. Come on. My blood's up. If you won't apol- 
ogize, you must fight. 

Ned. Keep off! keep off, I say ! You'll get hurt. 

Will. Shall I? I'll risk it. {They struggle. Ned 
throws Will across stage. He falls on bench, l.) 

Douglas. That won't do. {Seizes jug, steps up behind 
Ned, and strikes him on the head. Jarius appears in the 
door, c.) 

Ned. O, my head, my head ! {Staggers, and falls 
on bench, r.) 

Jarius. Jes' so. {Disappears.) 

Douglas. {Buns to Will, and places the jug in his 
hand.) Are you hurt, Will ? 

Will. Hurt ? No. Let me come at him. Let me — 

Douglas. No, no. You have nearly killed him with 
the jug. 

Will. The jug? 

Douglas. Yes ; you seized it, and struck him before 
I could interfere. 

Will. Did I ? Then I'll give him another. 

Enter John, l. 

John. What's going on here? Fighting? Ned hurt? 
Who has done this ? 

Enter Jarius, c. 

Jarius. {Goes to Ned.j The boy's senseless. Wa- 
ter, water ! quick ! {Enter Mary, l.) Mary, bring 
water ! quick ! Ned's hurt. 

Mary. Ned hurt ? O, mercy ! [Exit, L. 

John. Who struck him? 
19 



290 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Douglas. "Will, but quite acciden tally. You see, Ned 
provoked him, and, quite accidentally — 

Will. No such thing. Don't play sneak, Hen. I did 
it, old man, to uphold the honor of the family. 

John. Will Nutter, you're drunk. 

Will. Drunk yourself, you old fool. O, I ain't afraid 
of you. I've been tied to your leather apron long 
enough. Now I'm going to see the world. D'ye hear 
that, old man? No more pegs for me. You can have 
the little brown jug to yourself now. I've had a taste 
of something better — something stronger. It's roused 
the man in me. So I'm off. Good by. 

Enter Mary, l. with water. She runs to Ned, and Jarius 
and she try to revive Ned. 

John. Stop, Will Nutter. If you leave this place 
now, you can never return to it. 

Will. That's all right — just the sort. Don't want to 
see it again. Hope you'll live long and prosper, and, 
when you die, leave a nice little fortune to yours, truly. 
Good by. 

Douglas. Don't mind him, sir. I'll take care of him. 
You see how he is. Come, Will. (Drags him to the 
door, c.) 

Will. I say, old man, I'm off to fame and fortune. 

John. Fame and fortune? Disgrace and infamy! 
Will, I'll give you one more chance. Return to your 
bench, and all shall be forgotten. Leave this place now, 
and its doors shall never be opened to you again, though 
you were dying on the • doorstep. Choose now, and 
choose quickly. 



THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 291 

Will. Quick enough. I'm off. 

John. Then go ; and, as you desert me, may you, 
in turn, be deserted. May all your plans fail you, 
your enterprises prove unsuccessful, poverty and ruin dog 
your steps, and life be to you a failure and a burden. 
Away, and bear with you a father's bitter, bitter — 

Mary. (Running to him, and pitting her arms around 
his neck.) No, father, don't say that, don't say that ! 
Poor boy, his will be a bitter life without his father's 
curse. 

TABLEAU. 

Will in door, c, his left arrrt raised defiantly. Douglas 
has left hand on Will's shoulder, his right hand in 
Will's right, dragging him out. Jarius bending over 
Ned, r. John, l., with right hand raised; Mary, 
with her arms about his neck, looking into his face. 
Slow curtain. 

ACT SECOND. 

* 

Scene. — Boom in Nutter's House. Lounge, r., on 
which Ned is lying asleep. Small table near lounge, 
at ivhich Mary is seated, sewing. Lamp on table. 
Ann-chair, l. c. Table with plants, R. corner, back ; 
if scenery is used, window in flat, R. c. Door, c, 
shut. Moonlight through window. Sally, asleep in 
arm-chair, L. C. 

Mary. Poor fellow, he's asleep at last. What a ter- 
rible year it has been for him ! That cruel blow stretched 
him on a bed of sickness, from which we feared he never 



292 THE LITTLE BBOWN JUG. 

would rise. Only a good constitution and careful nurs- 
ing have saved him from death, and saved Will from 
worse than death — the stain of murder. O, Will, if you 
only knew how we have fought to save you from that, 
how we have prayed for Ned's recovery, your heart might 
be touched with remorse. Surely Henry Douglas must 
have told him of his danger. He says he has. But 
not a word, not a line comes from him. A whole year 
has passed. We have watched and waited. Mother's 
once bright cheek has grown pale. Father, though he 
says not a word, starts at every footfall. But yet no sign 
of his return. 

Sally. Now, Jarius, if you don't stop, I'll scream. 
Murder, murder ! (Wakes.) Bless my soul! Havel 
been dreaming? 

Mary. Yes, Sally, of Jarius. 

Sally. It's no sech thing. Leastwise, dreams go by 
contraries. I thought that Jarius Jerden had his arm 
around my neck, and was going to kiss me ; so I hol- 
lered. 

Mary. As dreams go by contraries, you wouldn't 
scream if he really had. 

Sally. Yes, I would. What do I care for Jarius Jer- 
den? He's forever pokin* his nose in here when he 
ain't wanted. I'll give him a piece of my mind some 
dav, see if I don't. 

Mary. That will be very satisfactory to him, no 
doubt, when he pops the important question. 

Sally. He? Jarius Jerden pop the question ? He'll 
never do it. He hain't the courage. He jest comes here, 
and sits and whistles, sighs and whittles, and talks about 



THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 293 

Squire Jones and his cattle, and sich nonsense. I've no 
patience with him. If I was a man, I'd just know which 
side my bread was buttered on in short order. 

Hannah. (Outside, l.) Sally, Sally ! 

Sally. Yes, marm. 

Hannali. (Outside, l.) Your bread's run onto the 
floor, the fire's all out, and the cat's in the cream. — Scat ! 
scat! 

Sally. Dear me ! What a chapter of accidents ! And 
I here dreaming ! O, these men, these men ! 

[Exit, l. 

Mary. Ah, Sally, 'twill be a happy day for you when 
Jarius Jordan musters up courage enough to ask you to 
be his wife. There'll be a prompt answer on your part, 
I'll warrant. (Enter Douglas, c.) And a happy life, 
which you so richly deserve, will be the sequel to this 
queer wooing. Heigho ! 

Douglas, ( Who has crept up behind her chair.) That 
sigh was touching, Mary. Was it meant for me ? 

Mary. (Starting up.) Mr. Douglas ! You here? 

Douglas. Does that surprise you? Where should I 
be but in the presence of her I love — of the angelic be- 
ing who has promised to be my wife ? (Ned wakes, and, 
leaning on his elbow, listens.) 

Mary. That was a great while ago. 

Douglas. A year only. Surely you have not repented 
of your promise. 

Mary. I have. 

Douglas. Ho, ho ! So this is the meaning of the 
coldness which I have felt creeping into our intercourse 
of late — you repent your promise ! 



294: THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 

Mary. Mr. Douglas, listen to me. A year ago I was 
a giddy girl, proud to be noticed by one so bigh in the 
social sphere as you. Your attentions to me, while other 
girls in vain sought to attract you, dazzled me, caused a 
fluttering in my silly bosom, which I then thought was 
love, and I gave you encouragement ; nay, I will confess 
it, promised to be your wife. We were very happy here 
in our family circle then — very. But, alas! trouble 
came. You know how. My brother fled ; our dear Ned 
was struck down ; I became his nurse ; by night and by 
day I w T atched by his couch ; and in those long hours 
what could I do but think, think, think? I thought of the 
wide difference in our social position, how unsuited we 
were for each other — you, with your fine talents and rich 
connections, I, a poor girl, reared to hard work, with no 
knowledge of the world outside our little village ; and 
then I looked into my heart, and somehow, I can't ex- 
plain it, I felt there was no love there ; that I never could 
be happy as your wife ; and so to-night I ask you to re- 
lease me. 

Douglas. Well, 'pon my word, here's a confession ! 
Here's a fine position for the heir of the Douglas name 
and state. After my unremitting attentions for a year, 
I am to be thrown aside, like a country bumpkin, at the 
whim of a girl who don't know her own mind ! No, no, 
Mary, I shall not release you. You'll think better of it 
to-morrow. 

Mary. Yes, better, for my resolve will be stronger. 

Douglas. And that resolve is — 

Mary. Never to marry you, Henry Douglas. It is 
best we have no misunderstanding now. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 295 

Douglas. It is, indeed. So, so ! While I have been 
absent, my place has been taken in your heart by that 
fool, Ned Hartshorn. 

Mary. Mr. Douglas ! 

Douglas. Yes ; it's as plain as the sun at noonday. 
Stunned by a slight blow, he made that the pretext for a 
long season of wasting sickness, that he might secure 
your attention, that he might bill and coo in your face, 
excite your compassion, and awake in your heart an an- 
swer to his love. The hypocrite ! With his youth and 
strength, the blow he received should not have kept him 
from his work a day. 'Twas a crafty trick. 

Mary. Mr. Douglas ! 

Douglas. Ay, a crafty trick. But it shall not suc- 
ceed. I have your promise ; I have your father's con- 
sent. I will not release you. 

Mary. Henry Douglas, you have spoken plainly, and 
you have spoken falsely. 'Tis true he who lies there 
loves me. I have read it in his pleading eyes; I have 
heard it in the delirium of fever from his lips. But he 
is as incapable of the meanness you would ascribe to him 
as you are of an honorable thought. Shame, shame ! 
He has worked hard for an honest name. Poor fellow ; 
'tis all he has in the world ! — and you, rich and power- 
ful, seek to rob him of that. 

Douglas. Mary ! 

Mary. Silence ! I will not hear you. You have at- 
tacked the honor of a dear friend, dearer for the infirmiry 
which has fallen upon him through the instrumentality 
of one of my name. 'Tis but right I should stand forth 
in his defence. Hear me. I asked you to release me 



296 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

from my promise ; I gave you the reasons, good, true 
reasons, which would have convinced an honorable man. 
I have one more to give, which must convince you. I 
can never be your wife, for your attack has revealed 
something I hardly dreamed. I love Ned Hartshorn as 
I can never love another. 

Douglas, Ha ! The truth at last ! There is no mis- 
understanding now. Your last reason has convinced me. 
Now hear one which must overpower yours, which must 
convince you that I will not be trifled with. Your brother 
Will and I parted company this morning. 

Mary. Will and you ! What mean you ? 

Douglas. Yesterday, being the first of the month, my 
book was returned to me from the Phoenix Bank, with the 
checks which I had drawn during the month. I say, which 
I had drawn. I'm wrong. There was one there for two 
hundred dollars, signed by a clever imitation of my name, 
of which I had no knowledge. It was a forgery. 

Mary. A forgery ! Well ? 

Douglas. Nay, 'twas very bad, for I found, upon in- 
vestigation, it had been done by your brother. 

Mary. Will? No, no ; you do not suspect him. 

Douglas. I know he forged that check. This morn- 
ing I charged him with it. Of course he indignantly 
denied it. I informed him, quietly, that I had no further 
need of his services. He took his hat, and departed ; 
and there the matter rests. Of course I might have 
called in an officer, and had him arrested ; but, as he was 
in a fair way to become my brother-in-law, that would 
have been injudicious, to say the least. 

Maiy. It would have killed my mother. But Will — 
where is he now ? 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 297 

Douglas. I haven't the least idea. Of one thing "be 
certain — he will never trouble you with his presence. 
His city life has not been a success. He will not return 
to boast of it. Besides, should he appear here, I must 
arrest him. 

Mary. You arrest him ? No, no ; that would be in- 
famous. 

Douglas. He is a criminal ; he has robbed me, and 
squandered my money. Why should I pardon him ? 

Mary. Because — because — (Aside.) O, Heavens, 
I have lost the power to plead for him ! 

Douglas. Mary, you will think better of your resolve. 
You love your brother ; he is in danger. If I but raise 
my finger, disgrace and infamy are fastened upon him 
forever. I would not willingly be the instrument of jus- 
tice in this case. I would not rob him of liberty ; of the 
opportunity to wipe out this disgrace. But you, to-night, 
propose to rob me of my happiness ; to blight my life by 
withholding the treasure I covet — yourself. Think ycu 
not, in such a case, revenge is justice? 

Mary. What would you have me do ? 

Douglas. Fulfil your promise. Become my wife. 

Mary. Still loving Ned Hartshorn? 

Douglas. Love that fool ! I do not believe it. You 
are too sensible a girl, Mary. No, no. When you are 
my wife, this idle folly will be but a dream. 

Mary. Yes, when I am your wife ! And if I keep 
my promise, my brother — 

Douglas. Shall not be molested. More, I will be- 
friend him, and place him in a good position. 

Mary. Indeed ! So I am to save my brother at the 



298 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

cost of my love ! Henry Douglas, the trick is worthy 
of you ; but it shall not move me. I love my brother, 
Heaven knows ; but not even to save him from prison 
would I marry one who has suffered at his hands, by con- 
senting to become your wife. 

Douglas. I have done. Justice must take its course. 
Nay, I will not be conquered by so mean a foe. Your 
father, your father, Mary, he shall decide whom he will 
accept as his daughter's husband, — I, rich, accomplished, 
of good family, or that low, gawky clown. 

Mary. Silence ! He is a brave, noble, true man, who 
would scorn to stoop to the petty tricks of the rich and 
accomplished Henry Douglas. Let my father decide. I 
care not. Every threat you utter but strengthens my res- 
olution. Do your worst. From your arms I would fly 
to his, though I knew poverty and toil should be our 
portion. 

Douglas. As you please. But I shall not release you, 
Mary Nutter. My wife you shall, you must be. You've 
a stubborn father and a stubborn lover to fight. Arm 
yourself, Mary ; you will need all your strength, and then 
— I shall win. Good night. \_Exit, c. 

Mary. Ah, while there is life there is hope, even in a 
bad cause. (Turns, and sees Ned looking at her.) Why, 
Ned, you awake? 

Ned. Yes, Mary. I have heard all. 

Mary. What ! No, no, Ned, not all ! 

Ned. Yes, Mary, every word. O, it seems as though 
a reviving draught had been poured through my veins, 
and life, strong, healthy life was coming back to me. 
Now I can speak, give utterance to that which you have 



TIIE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 299 

discovered, but which I, weak, distrustful, hid in my own 
bosom. Now, Mary, I can tell you I love you. 

Mary. Ned, have I doue right to break my promise? 

Ned. Yes, Mary. You have obeyed the dictates of 
your heart. Douglas is unworthy the rich prize he 
seeks. 

Mary. Had I known you were listening, Ned, I fear 
my tongue would have refused to do its duty. 

Ned. And you love me ? 

Mary. Yes, Ned, with all my heart. 

Ned. O, you make me so happy ! An hour ago life 
seemed not worth living for ; but now, with your love to 
cheer me, all is bright and hopeful. It's a glorious 
world ! and never fear but I will find a way to lead you, 
not to toil and poverty, not to wealth and luxury, but to 
a comfortable home, where the ring 6f my hammer and 
the sound of your voice shall blend in sweet accord. 

Mary. Why, Ned, what magic's here? Your eye is 
bright, your cheek glowing, your whole manner so unlike 
you ! I'm frightened. 

Ned. Maine? The magic of a woman's love, which 
can transform age to youth, and make the dull heart beat 
with healthy power. You smile on me, and I am strong 
again. 

Mary. Now be careful. Remember you are an inva- 
lid. Bless me ! how late it is ! Come, you must to bed 
at once. Remember I am your nurse still. 

Ned. 0, I'll obey. But I shan't sleep a wink. Mary, 
are you sure I'm not dreaming? 

Mary. There's my hand. When you ask it, it is 
yours. 



300 THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 

Ned. (Places his arm around her waist, takes her 
hand and raises it to his lips.) Mine ! heart and hand 
mine ! No ; I'm not dreaming. 'Tis a blessed reality. 

\_Exeunt, r. 
(Knoch at door, c, then it opens, and Jarius sticks his 

head in.) 

Jarius. Jes' so. (Enters.) Nobody to hum, or all 
gone to roost, except Sally. That air female I jest 
seen through the kitchen winder a slashin' away in the 
bread trough like all possessed. She's a powerful gal 
— she is. Her washin' don't hang round long arter 
breakfast, I reckon. O, Sally, ef yeou only knew what 
a powerful drubbin' was goin' on behind my ribs on your 
account, you'd take pity and help a feller out somehow. 
Plague take it ! She knows it well enough. Didn't I 
start right off, a year ago, on her hint, and git my hair 
cropped so short that I couldn't lay on a piller, and 
sneezed and snorted, and wore out handkerchers with 
the influenza? Didn't I go and git measured for a new 
pair of boots, so tight that I hobbled all day and howled 
all night with aching toes ? Didn't I git fitted to a bran 
new coat, that bust up the back the fust time I wore it? 
Ef that ain't showin' off one's love, I'd like to know it ! 
But it's no use. She won't help a feller a bit. She 
knows every time I come I'm a -burniu' to ask her to be 
my wife. But J can't say it. It gits jes' so fur, and 
there it sticks. Sally, I love you. Four words. I'm 
blamed ef they ain't a bigger load to git rid of than a 
Fourth er July oration ! But it's no use. It's got to 
come. So, Jarius, don't be a fool. Spit it out, and 
she's yourn. I will, the minute I see her. I won't wait 



THE LITTLE BR0Vv 7 N JUG. 801 

for nothing but jest shout, Sally — (Enter Sally, l., 
with her hands and arms covered with flour). Sh, sh ! 
How do you do? (Shakes hands quickly.) 

Sally. Law sakes, Mr. Jerden, you've caught me this 
time, sure enough ! I'm up to my elbows in flour. So 
jest excuse me a minute. (Going, l. 

Jarius. No, hold on a minute, or I shall bust. Now's 
the appointed time, Sally. Sally, I've got something 
particular to say — Sally — Sally — old Hopkins has 
got the yaller janders. 

Sally. Wal, I declare ! Is that the particular some- 
thin' ? (Going, l.) 

Jarius. No, no. Hold on a minute. (Catches her 
by the arm; gets flour on his hands.) 'Tain'tthat* 
(Aside.) Consarn it, there's a cold chill runs up my 
back, and my face is burnin' up. ( Wipes his face with 
his hands, leaving flour on it.) 

Sally. Why, Mr. Jerden, what is the matter with 
you ? You're as pale as a ghost ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. O, Sally, hear me. Don't look at 
me, but open your ears. Pally Seeslee, — no, Sally 
Peeslee, — I — I — I think it's going to rain. (Aside.) 
I can't do it. 

Sally. Wal, what of it ? 

Jarius. Jes' so. It'll put an end to the dry spell. 

Sally. It seems to me that you are having a very 
dry spell about something, Mr. Jerden. 

Jarius. Yes ; jes' so. Ha, ha, ha-h ! That's very 
good ! 

Sally. I'll be back before you want me, I guess. 
( Going l.) 



302 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Jarius. Don't leave me. Hear me first, for I'm on 
an awful strain, and if I once let up I'm a gone coon. 
Sally, I want to say — I must say — Sally, I mean to say 
— how's your marm? 

Sally. Why, Mr. Jerden, are you crazy? Mother's 
been dead and buried this six months. 

Jarius. So she has. It's no use asking arter her — 
is it? That wan't what I was going to say. To come 
to the p'int, Sally, to come to the p'int, I — I — I don't 
feel well. 

Sally. Then you'd better go home, tie up your ears, 
and get to bed. It's my opinion you've had a pint too 
much, Jarius Jerden ; and if ever you show yourself here 
in that condition again, I'll drown the pizen out of yer with 
a kittle of hot water. Ain't ye ashamed of yourself, at 
your time of life , making a fool of yourself in this way, 
Jarius Jerden? I did think you had some sense; but 
you're nothing but a fool, arter all. Go home. Don't 
stand there staring at me in that way. Go to bed, sleep 
it off, and rise in the morning a sadder and a wiser man. 
0, Jarius, you, of all men ! "Wal, I never ! [Exit, l. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Sold again. And she thinks I'm 
drunk ! Never was drunk in all my life ; but if the -sen- 
sation is anything like bein' in love without the power 
of tellin' on it, then all I've got to say, it's an all-fired 
mean feelin'. Wal, things is gittin' on backwards mighty 
fast, anyhow. I've made a darned goose of myself, that's 
sartin. ' Go home and sleep it off? Yes, I guess not. 
I'll just hang round here a little longer, and if there's 
another chance, I'll make one mouthful of it, and say, 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 803 

"Sally — " O, consarn it, Jarius, you darsn't. You're 
a mean, mealy-mouthed critter, and no mistake. 

[Exi^ C. 

Enter Mary, r. 

Mary. Who's that? Somebody just left the house. 
Who could it have been? It must have been Jarius, on 
his nightly visit. Sally's light is still burning in the 
kitchen. I'll just pick up my work, and off to bed. Can 
it be possible that Will forged that check? I don't be- 
lieve it. Henry Douglas must have invented that story 
to frisrhten me. 

Enter Will, c, softly. 

Poor boy, I wish he were safe home again ! 

Will. Mary — sister ! 

Mary. (Bushing into his arms.) O, Will, dear Will, 
is it you at last? 

Will. Hush ! Don't wake anybody. I wouldn't be 
seen by any one but you for the world. You see, I got 
awful homesick, wanted to have a look at the old home, 
and, if possible, speak with you. But I don't want to 
meet father or mother. 

Mary, Don't want to meet them ! O, Will, your city 
life — 

Will. Is splendid! I'm rising in the world — I am. 
That's the place for me. Busy all day, and at night see- 
ing the sights. O, it's gay ! I'm doing well. But I 
shall never meet father until I am rich erough to say, 
U I was right, and you were wrong. I should have been 
on the bench now had I listened to you ; but I asserted 



804 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

my rights, went into the world, and have come back rich, 
powerful, influential." Ahem. That's the stvle in which 
I shall meet him one of these days. 

Mary. "Will, are you still in the employ of Mr. Doug- 
las? 

Will. No. I'm on my own account. 

Mary. O, Heavens ! 'tis true, 'tis true ! 

Will What's true, Mary ? 

Mary. The forged check. 

Will. Eh ? What forged check ? 

Mary. Henry Douglas told me to-night that you had 
forged his name to a check for two hundred dollars. 

Will. 'Tis a lie ! an infamous lie ! 

Mary. He said you denied it. 

Will. We have never spoken concerning a check. I 
have had nothing to do with his money matters. 

Mary. But you have parted? 

Will. Because he wished me to testify falsely in a 
case in which he was concerned— to perjure myself. I 
refused ; and for that reason, and that alone, we parted. 
Mary, I may be wild and reckless, but, believe me, I have 
never committed a crime— never. 

Mary. I do believe you, Will. 'Tis but another proof 
of his perfidy. 

Will. Never mind him, Mary. He's not worthy of a 
thought. Tell me of father and mother. Are they 
well ? 

Mary. Ah, Will, your conduct has made them ten 
years older. Father will not allow your name to be 
mentioned, and mother, at his bidding, is silent ; but her 
face is careworn, her step feeble, and the nervous start 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 305 

she gives when the door opens tells how anxiously she 
awaits your return. You will see her, Will? 

Will. Not to-night, Mary. In an hour I must be on 
my way back to the city. Mary, I wish I had not come 
here. There's a power in the old house that makes my 
heart ache, it awakens such memories ! And mother, 
dear soul, how sadly her bright hopes of her boy have 
been shattered ! Though I have dashed into the city, 
and been swept along by its hurry and whirl, I have 
often thought of this quiet house, and ached, fairly ached, 
to feel mother's arms around my neck, and her good- 
night kiss upon my brow. O, Mary, be tender, very 
tender with her. Don't let her hear a word against me. 
Sometimes I think that fierce temptation will overwhelm 
me, ruin me, body and soul ; and that would break her 
heart. 

Mary. O, Will, stay with us. Here you are safe 
from all temptations. 

Will. Here ? Why, Mary, you forget the little brown 
jug, which first tempted me to drink, which created a 
thirst, which, fight against as I will, must be quenched. 

Mary. Ah ; but the little brown jug will not tempt 
you now. Since that day there has been no more brew- 
ing of strong drink. Father has abandoned it, and the 
old jug has been put to a better use. 

Will. A better use? 

Mary. Yes. 'Tis now placed in the cupboard in fa- 
ther's room, and every Saturday night he places in it 
the sum of money he would have expended for liquor 
during the week. There's quite a large sum there. 
20 



306 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

Will. That's very queer. In father's cupboard, you 
say? 

Mary. Yes. But you do not inquire after Ned. 

Will. Ned Hartshorn ? Is he here still? 

Mary. Will, are you ignorant of his severe illness? 
Did not Mr. Douglas tell you? 

Will. Nothing concerning Ned Hartshorn. I haven't 
heard his name before for a year. 

Mary. Douglas's deceit again ! Will, for a year he 
has not left the house. That blow with the jug, a year 
ago, nearly killed him. 

Will. What! And I knew nothing of it? O, this 
is terrible ! That man is a fiend ! He has tried to keep 
from me all knowledge of you and my family, for what 
reason I cannot guess. But I will know. Ned Harts- 
horn nearly killed, and by my hand ! I am accursed ! Let 
me fly from this place ! 

Mary. No, no, Will ; not now, not now ! 

Will. I will ! I must ! What right have I to stand 
beneath this roof? I have defied my father, chosen my 
own path in life, turned my back upon you all, and have 
no right to claim kindred here. Let me go, Mary. 'Tis 
better for all. There's a curse upon me, a bitter curse. 
Let me go ! let me go ! 

Mary. No, no, brother. (Clings about his neck.) I 
will not release you. We love you dearly. 

Will. Then pray for me, think of me kindly if you 
can ; but part we must. (Kisses her.) Mary, sister, 
Heaven bless you ! (Bushes out, c.) 

Mary. Gone. Poor boy ! I tremble for him, swayed 
by every impulse of his wayward nature, in the midst 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 307 

of temptation ; his youog life already poisoned by the love 
drink, what must be his fate ! O, brother, may Heaven 
send some good angel to reclaim you, and hear a moth- 
er's and a sister's prayers in your behalf. {Takes light 
from tabfo r and exits, r.) 

Door opens, softly. Enter Will, c. 

Will, Homeless and friendless ! She little knows it 
ha3 come to that. She little knows that my threat to 
acquaint my father with his wild doings parted Douglas 
and I. He marry her ! Not if I can prevent it. But 
what power have I with my stubborn father? Douglas 
has trumped up his charge of forgery to frighten me and 
intimidate her. How can I alarm her and father? I 
came to tell her, and have not spoken a word against 
him. But I will find a way. Just now I must care for 
myself. I haven't had a morsel to eat to-day, so my 
good mother's cupboard must provide. If I could only 
have one good pull at the little brown jug ! I forgot. 
'Tis now put to better use. Better? There's money in 
it ; and money will provide both food and shelter. Why 
not? Haven't I a right to put my fingers in it? Yes, 
you have put it to a better use, father, and, with your 
good leave, I'll have a pull at it, as in former days. Egad, 
it's a capital joke. There's no crime about it, for it's all 
in the family, and one member mustn't starve while oth- 
ers hoard wealth. I'll creep into father's room, secure 
the jug, help myself, and nobody shall be the wiser. 
Softly, my boy, softly. {Creeps out, l.) 



308 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

Jarius appears at window, or door, c. 

Jariits. Consarn it ! somebody's been sneaking round 
this house for the last half hour. Wonder if he's arter 
Sally ! {Enters window, or door?) Blamed if 1 ain't 
goiDg to know what it's all about ! If it's a thief, then 
all I've got to say, there'll be some spry wrastling around 
here afore he gits off with much plunder. 

Enter Will, l., with jug of money. 

Will. All right. I've got it. {Buns into Jarius' s 
arms.) 

Jarius. {Seizing Mm by collar.} Jes' so. So have I. 

Will. Ah ! Discovered ! Who are you, scoundrel ? 

Jarius. Who are you, thief? {Drags him to moon- 
light.) Will Nutter ! 

Will. Jarius Jordan ! 

Jarius. Wal, I never ! Will Nutter a thief! 

Will. Thief? 'Tis false. 

Jarius. {Snatching jug from Mm.) Here is the 
proof. O, Will, young feller, has it come to this? 

Will. What right have you meddling here ? This is 
my father's house. Haven't I a right to pass in and out 
of it when I please ? 

Jarius. Jes' so ; but not to rob the old man. What 
right have. I to meddle ? The right which every honest 
man should be proud to exercise — the right to battle 
wrong wherever found. Young feller, you've made my 
heart ache to-night. To see the boy we were all so proud 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 309 

of sneaking out of his father's house a thief! It's too 
bad! 

Will. Jarius Jordan, once more I tell you I'm no 
thief. 

Jarius. Will you tell your father so, when I arouse 
him, as I mean to? 

Will. No, no, Jarius ; don't do that. Let me go as 
I came. Keep the jug, if you please ; only let me go. 

Jarius. Will Nutter, young feller, you're going to 
destruction as fast as your legs can carry you. Where's 
your pride? Where's your grand expectations, that you 
raved so about, a year ago? Why, you're the meanest 
of all critters — a thief. 

Will. That name again ? 

Jarius. Yes ; again and again. I ain't agoin' to be 
mealy-mouthed on this subject, anyhow. You see what 
yer fine friend has brought ye to ; for it's all his work. 
I've watched ye in the city all through yer year of service 
w T ith him. I've seen the temptations spread by him like 
a spider, and you, poor little fly, walk into them. It all 
came of his trickery. And now here you are, crawling 
into the room where your poor mother is sleeping — 

Will. O, don't, Jarius ; don't speak of my mother ! 
What would she say to know that her poor boy was a — 
a — 

Jarius. Thief! Say it, Will, young feller. Git the 
bile all out of yer system. Look at yerself as ye are ; 
feel as mean as ye look. You are — 

Will. A thief! Yes, Jarius, it's the truth. O, why 
did I come here? Why add this horror to a life already 
made wretched by my folly ? I never dreamed of this. It 



310 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

was a sudden impulse. I never gave a thought to it. 
It came upon me unawares. But now I see its wicked- 
ness. O, Jarius, wh}>- can't I die ? (Sinks on floor, 
covers face with hands.) "Why can't I die ? I haven't a 
friend in the world to care for me now. 

Jarius. Yes, you have. Look up, Will. I never 
went back on a feller-critter, good or bad, when in dis- 
tress, and I ain't a goin' to do it now. Look up, young 
feller. I'll help you out. 

Will. Help me ? You ! Then show me how to help 
myself. Show me some way to wipe out this disgrace, 
and I will bless you. 

Jarius. Listen to me. A year ago, of your own ac- 
cord, you set out to seek your fortune with Hen Doug- 
las — 

Will. Yesterday we parted, for his service was too 
, mean for me to perform. 

Jarius. Jes' so. You've had a year of his tuition ; 
will you now take a year of mine? 

Will. Yours, Jarius? 

Jarius. Yes, mine. I wanted you then, but Douglas 
euchred me. I want you now. "Will you serve me? 

Will. "Willingly, and bless you for the chance. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Young feller, you've only seen the 
dark side of life. You've been dipped into temptation ; 
but hang on to me and I'll pull you out. There's my 
hand. 

Will. And there's mine. 

Jarius. Hold on a minute. Let's understand things. 
There's got to be a rippin' away of old associations — no 
billiards, no cards, no theatres. 



THE LITTLE BE OWN JUG. 311 

Will. There's my hand. 

Jarius. Hold on a minute. You're to stick to all X 
ask, although it goes agin the grain. 

Will. There's my hand. 

Jarius. Hold on a minute. Here's the hardest. You 
must solemnly promise that for one year you will never 
touch, taste, or handle liquor, plain or embellished, raw 
or fancy. It's hard, young feller, for you, but it's your 
only hope. 

Will. It is, indeed, Jarius. Heaven bless you ! You 
are a true friend. As you speak, I feel the strength of 
your good, noble heart animating mine. Yours is tho 
first warning voice that has ever reached my ears, and I 
will heed it. Do with me as you will. I promise. 

Jarius. Jes' so. NufF sed ; shake. {They stand in 
centre of stage, with clasped hands, as the curtain slowly 
descends.) 



ACT THIED. 

Scene. — Same as Act 2. Table, l. Arm-chair l. of 
table, in which is seated John Nutter. Lounge, r. 
Chair, r., back. Table, with plants, l., back. Door, 
C, open. Ned standing r. of table. 

John. It's no use argifying, Ned. It can't be ; it shan't 
be. Mary gin her promise to Henry Douglas more than 
a year ago, au' she's got to stick tew it. I ain't a goin' 
to have no flirts about me. 

Ned. But she does not love him, sir ; she is truly at- 



312 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

tached to me. You surely would not have her break her 
heart. 

John. Better break it than break her promise, and 
break his heart. 

Ned. There is no fear of breaking his ; he has none. 
He is unworthy of her. 

John. Now, Ned, don't be mean. Don't speak ill 
of a man because he is likely to win where you may 
lose. 

Ned. I speak the truth. Mary has told him she did 
not love him, and asked him to release her. He refused. 
He's a mean, contemptible sneak, unworthy any woman's 
love. That one act stamps him so. 

John. Now stop. That's enough. I know Henry 
Douglas better than you. He has been a good friend 
to me, and I won't have him abused. When, a year ago, 
I emptied the little brown jug of my savings, and found, 
to my surprise, a handsome sum, he showed me a grand 
chance for a safe investment. I took his advice, and 
doubled my money in a month. He helped me to other 
investments. 

Ned. I know. Some of them paid and some didn't. 
The balance is on the wrong side, for your money has 
vanished, and there's a mortgage of a thousand dollars on 
your property, which he holds. Pretty friend he ! 

John. Well, what of it? Them as win must expect 
to lose sometimes. It's no use your talkin' agin him. 
He's smart, and he'll help me out, with a handsome profit, 
when the time comes right. 

Ned. And for his sake you refuse to let Mary marry 
the man of her choice ? 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 313 

•John, He was the man of her choice. I'm only a 
givin' him justice. Now look a-here, Ned ; let's have no 
more of this. I think a heap of you. You're a smart 
workman ; and I'd like to see you married. Mary's al- 
ready engaged. {Rises.) Think no more of her. If 
you want a smart wife, 

Enter Jarius, C. 

take Sally Peeslee. She's a bouncer. [Exit, l. 

Jarius. (Aside.). Jes' so. Guess I didn't come back 
any tew soon. (Aloud.) Ned ! 

Ned. (Turning, sees Jarius.) Jarius Jordan ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. Heow air yer, young feller ? (Shake 
hands.) And heow's everybody? 

Ned. Glad to see you once more. It must be a year 
since you were here. 

Jarius. Jes' so ; a year to-day. Folks all well ? 

Ned. Yes — no ; Mother Nutter is poorly ; the rest 
are hearty. 

Jarius. Sally Peeslee smart — hey? By the by, 
didn't I hear John Nutter say somethin' about your mak- 
in' up to her? 

Ned. You need fear no rival in me, Mr. Jordan. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Expected you and Mary would have 
made a match. P'raps you have. 

Ned. No. We are warmly attached ; but Mr. Nut- 
ter will not hear of our marrying. He wants to give her 
to Henry Douglas. 

Jarius. The old fool ! Nothin' personal in that re* 
mark. But he's wus than a nine-days' -old pup — hain't 



314 THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 

got his eyes open. Wal, what air ye goin* to do 'boul 
it — give her up ? 

Ned. Never ! I scarcely know what to do. Douglas 
has almost ruined the old man with speculation. Every- 
thing is mortgaged to him ; and if Mary does not marry 
him, he will turn them out of their home. 

Jarius. Sho ! How much is the mortgage ? 

Ned. A thousand dollars. 

Jarius. Wal, don't yeou fret, young feller. I'll see 
yeou through. I've got a bone to pick with that air 
chap ; and, keen as he thinks himself, he's got to git up 
airly if he gits ahead of Jarius Jordan. Hullo, here's 
Mary] 

Enter Mart, r. 

Mary. Well, Ned, what does he say ? — Why, Mr. 
Jordan ! 

Jarius. Jes* so. Heow d'ye do? (Shake hands.) 
Prettier than ever, I declare ! 

Mary. This is an unexpected pleasure. We haven't 
seen you for a long time. 

Jarius. Jes' so. But Ned don't say what he said.' 

Ned. He refused me, Mary. He says you must keep 
your promise to Douglas. 

Mary. Never. I'll die first. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Good grit. Neow, young folks, I 
always was famous for meddlin' ; and I'm goin' to help 
you in this matter, if you'll let me. Douglas has a hold 
on the old gent with a mortgage. I understand that. 
Anything else ? 

Mary. He holds a check, which he declares was forged, 



THE LITTLE BROTVN JUG. 315 

his name used, and the money drawn from the bank by 
Will. This he has threatened to use against my brother. 

Jarius. Jes' so. A forged check? That's an old 
trick. You don't happen to know what bank it was drawn 
on — do you ? 

Mary, He told me. Let me think a moment. The 
Phosnix Bank. 

Jarius. The Phoenix? Sho ! I've got him! (Goes 
to table, takes a tablet from his pocket, and writes with a 
pencil.) Neow, then, young feller, I want to use yer. If 
yeou want Mary, jest put on your hat, and leg it to the 
telegraph office. Here's a message ; put it through, and 
wait for an answer. (Tears out leaf, and gives it to 
Ned.) 

Ned. But what does this mean? 

Jarius. Business. Don't ask any questions ; but go. 
If yeou git the answer I expect, I'll euchre Douglas in 
spite of thunder. 

Ned. Will you? Then I'm off. — Will you go, 
Mary? 

Jarius. No ; Mary will stay here. Where's your po- 
liteness? Ain't I company? 

Ned. All right, Mr. Jordan. I'm off. [Exit, c. 

Jarius. Well, Mary, heow's yer marm? 

Mary. She's very sick, Mr. Jordan. She keeps her 
room most of the time. My brother's conduct, my fa- 
ther's wild speculations, and the persistent wooing of 
Henry Douglas, — whom she detests, — have made her 
very miserable. 

Jarius. Jes* so. Wal, we'll see if we can't doctor 
her up. Now, Mary, the next time Douglas comes here 



316 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

don't you be mealy-mouthed. Let him have it right and 
left. Tell him jest what you think of him, and defy him 
to do his worst. 

Mary. I dare not. He is wicked enough to crush 
father with the mortgage he holds, and mean enough to 
kill mother by disclosing Will's connection with the 
forged check. 

Jarius. Let him do his worst, Mary. He's a crafty 
chap, a-schemin' to snare the old man and get your hand ; 
but there's a weak p'int somewhere in his net, and if I 
can find it I'll holler. 

Mary. I'll obey you, Mr. Jordan. Only put an end 
to this terrible persecution, and you will make me happy. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Hullo ! there's Sally. Now I've 
got something particular to say to her, and if you don't 
mind taking a hasty leave, I'll be obliged to ye. 

Mary. O, certainly. Ahem ! Mr. Jordan, you're sure 
you have the courage to speak now ? 

Jarius. Neow yeou git eout ! Want to make a fel- 
ler feel cheap — don't yeou ? 

Mary. Ha, ha ! Mr. Jordan, you've a brave heart, 
but you dare not ask her. See if I am not right. Good 
by. [Exit, r. 

Jarius. Darsn't ask Sally to be my wife ? Don't think 
I'm such a blarsted fool neow. Arter staying away a 
year, guess I've about screwed my courage up to do it, 
or bust. 

Sally. (Outside, is.) Mary, Mary ! Where on airth 
is them mangoes? (Enter, l.) 

Jarius. Dunno, Sally. Here's a man come. 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 317 

Sally. Jarius Jerden ! Wal, I never ! How d' ye 
do? 

Jarius. Purty well, Sally. {Shake hands.) Sally, 
yen are a bouncer, and no mistake ! 

Sally. Where yeou been this long while ? Come 
back for good ? 

Jarius. Wal, that depends. Sally, yeou dew look 
jest about good enough to eat. 

Sally. Do I ? {Aside.) Law sakes ; how his eyes 
blaze ! T believe he's going to pop. ( Aloud.) I'm mak- 
ing pickles. 

Jarius. Making pickles? (Aside.) She's pickled 
me, long ago. 

Sally. Yes ; and I want the mangoes. Somebody's 
hid 'em. I must find Mary. (Crosses to r.) 

Jarius. Don't go, Sally ; I want to speak to yeou. If 
you leave me neow, I won't answer for the consequences. 

Sally. (Aside.) O, dear ; I'm afraid of him ! (Aloud.) 
What is it, Mr. Jerden ? (Edging off, r.) 

Jarius. (Aside.) How skeery she is ! Wonder 
what's the matter ! (Aloud.) Sally, I'm goin' to do 
somethin' desperate, for the sight of yeou has set me on 
fire. I feel — I feel that the hour has come — 

Sally. (Aside.) I can't bear it. (Aloud.) Dear 
me; this place hain't been dusted to-day. (Takes her 
apron, and runs about dusting table, chair, and lounge.) 

Jarius. (Aside.) I swow, she's skeered ! All right, 
Jarius ; now's yer chance. (Buns after Sally ; brings 
her down, c.) Sally, it's no use ; yeou must hear me. 
Sally, do yeou know what it is to be in — in — in — love ? 

Sally. (Aside.) He's going to pop ! (Aloud.) O, 



318 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

thera plants ! (Runs up, l.c.) They haven't been watered 
to-day. 

Jarius. {Aside.) How she does carry on ! (Runs 
after her, and brings her down, c.) Now look a-here, 
Sally.; it's no use. You'll spile everything. 

Sally. Oh, my pickles ! they'll spile ! Do let me go, 
Mr. Jerden. 

Jarius. (Putting his arm round her waist.) Let 'em 
spile ! I've got yeou fast, Sally, and I'm going to try 
and keep yeou for ever and ever. 

Sally. (Struggling to get away.) Mr. Jerden, I'm 
ashamed of you. 

Jarius. I'm ashamed of myself, Sally. To think I've 
been so mealy-mouthed ! What bright eyes you've got ! 
and rosy cheeks ! and such a mouth ! I declare, I must 
have a kiss ! 

Sally. Don't yeou dew it, Mr. Jerden. 

Jarius. I can't help it, Sally. I never saw a sugar 
bowl but what I wanted to git my fingers into it, or a 
'lasses barrel but what I wanted to lick it. And a mouth 
like yours ! — Jehu, don't stop me ! (Kisses her.) 

Enter Douglas, c. 

Douglas. Aha ! (Sally screams, and runs off, l.) 

Jarius. Jes' so. Aha, yerself, and see how yeou 
like it. 

Douglas. Jarius Jordan ! You back again ? 

Jarius. Jes' so, and likely to stop a spell. 

Douglas. I should judge so from the warm welcome 
you have just received. Is the day fixed — hey ? 



THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 319 

Jarius. Wal, not exactly. I'm kinder waitin' for 
you and Mary. Is the day fixed — hey ? 

Douglas. Ha ! You are sarcastic. They tell me you 
have made a great deal of money, Jordan. 

Jarius. Wal, I ain't as poor as a church mouse. 

Douglas. That's good. Our old friend Nutter has 
got into difficulties ; wants money. Now you are just 
the chap to help him. 

Jarius. Guess not. I don't throw my money away 
for nothin'. What I git I keep. 

Douglas. {Aside.) Good. No fear of him. {Aloud.) 
That's right. Don't let him wheedle you out of it ; for, 
between you and me, he's a ruined man. 

Jarius. Jes' so. He's a good old chap ; but I've 
heard he's been speculating and is bound to end in the 
poorhouse. Wal, they've got a purty good one here, 
and'll make him comfortable. Here comes his darter. 
I won't spile your fun as you did mine. I've got a 
heap of business to attend tew. Good day. {Aside.) 
Darn your ugly picter, your day is fixed. [Exit, c. 

Douglas. Rich and mean. All the better for me ; he 
will not mar my project ; and to-day I will give Mary 
my ultimatum — her hand, or her father's ruin. 

Enter Mary, r. 

Ah, Mary, you are looking finely to-day 1 

Mary. Thank you, Mr. Douglas. Father is at home. 
I will call him. {Crosses to l.) 

Douglas. No. By your leave, I would have a word 
with you. 



320 THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 

Mary. Certainly, if you wish it. (Sits in chair L. of 
table.) 

Douglas. (Brings chair down C, and sits.) Mary, I 
have come to-day to revive a topic upon which I have 
been silent a year. 

Mary. You come again to ask me to marry you. I 
have been expecting this visit. 

Douglas. And you are prepared with an answer ? 

Mary. I am. 

Douglas. Stop one moment, Mary. Before you give 
me that answer, hear me. You must believe that I love 
you. This long year, during which I have been almost 
a constant visitor, looking upon you with wistful eyes, 
yet with a silent tongue, for fear of your displeasure, 
coming and going, must be convincing proof that, spite 
of your coldness, your image is enshrined within my 
heart. 

Mary. Mr. Douglas, the man who truly loves a wo- 
man shows his devotion by making her happy, even at 
the cost of his own happiness. 

Douglas. You're right, Mary. 'Tis your happiness I 
seek when I ask you to become my wife. I would not 
see you throw yourself away upon a poor man, when I 
have the power to surround you with every comfort, and 
a heart overflowing with love, that cannot fail to make 
you happy. 

Mary. Enough. You and I can never agree. My 
answer a year ago was final. 

Douglas. Pray reconsider it. If not for my sake, 
for that of your father. 



THE LITTLE BKOWN JUG. 321 

Mary. Whom you have persistently wooed for the 
last year. What of hiin ? 

Douglas. Pie has met with reverse of fortune. He 
is now a poor man, so poor that, but for my friendly aid, 
he would have no home to shelter him. 

Mary. {Rising.) Your friendly aid ! 'Twas you 
who led him into speculation ; you who, by crafty advice, 
swept away his little store of hard-earned savings ; you, 
who now stand over his home ready to crush it if I, his 
daughter, dare refuse you my hand ! 

Douglas. Nay, Mary, you are harsh. Calm yourself. 
Out of my deep love for you I have endeavored to better 
his worldly condition. If I have failed in my designs — 

Mary. You have failed, Henry Douglas. My father 
is in your power, 'tis true. You can at any moment 
drive him from his heme. In that design you have tri- 
umphed. But beyond that you have miserably failed. 
Though my father should curse me, should drive me from 
my home for my disobedience, I will never marry you — 
never ! 

Douglas. Ah, you'll think better of it, Mary. I have 
spent a great deal of money to help him. He ow r es me 
a large sum. With you my wife, I could not be hard 
with him. Without you, I must deal with him justly, 
man to man, and claim my own. 

Mary. Claim it at once. Drive us forth, for then 
comes my triumph. There's a brave, true man w r aiting 
for me. Already we have planned a new home, where 
my parents will be tenderly cared for, and two loving 
hearts and four willing hands will rebuild all your craft 
21 



322 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

has destroyed. Ay, Henry Douglas, do your worst I 
You are a villain, and I hate and defy you ! 

Douglas. (Rising.) Enough. Mary Nutter, I will 
take you at your word. I will do my worst. You have 
turned all rny love to hate. I'll woo no more. But, 
mark me, your father shall be driven from his f home ; 
your lover — curse him! — shall be shot like a dog, 
though I hang for it ! 

Hannah. (Outside, l.) Mary, dear ! Mary! 

Douglas. Hark ! There's the voice of one very, very 
dear to you. You have defied me, Mary. I'll strike my 
first blow there. 

Mary. My mother ! No, no. You would not be so 
cruel. Spare her, I entreat you ! 

Douglas. No, no. You are too late. 

Enter Hannah, feebly, r., in a white wrapper. 

Hannah. Mary, Mary, dear ! don't you hear me ? 

Mary. (Running to her, and leading her to lounge?) 
Yes, mother ; I was just coming. Why did you leave 
your room? 

Hannah. It was so lonesome there, Mary, dear ; and, 
you know, to-day is Will's birthday. Yes, to-day he is 
a man. And I have felt all day that I should see him ; 
that to-day he would think of his poor mother, and find 
the way home to her. • 

Mary. Yes, mother, it is his birthday ; but he is far, 
far away. 

Hannah. Yes ; but not too far away to reach his 
mother. I remember, as though it were but yesterday, 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 323 

when he was twelve years old. "What a bright, noble 
boy he was ! He came to my side, put his arms about 
my neck, and said, " Mother, I shall soon be a man ! " 
Dear boy, he was a brave little man then. " And when 
I am a man, the first thing I shall do will be to run to 
you and kiss you, and thank you for making me a good, 
true man." Dear boy ! and I haven't seen him for two 
years ! and he don't write to me ; and you all look strange 
when I ask for him. But he'll come to-day, I know he 
will, for he promised ; and he never broke a promise he 
gave his mother — never. 

Douglas. Ah, it's shameful, shameful that a boy with 
so good a mother should turn out so bad ! 

Mary. (To Douglas.) Hush! For Heaven's sake 
be merciful ! 

Hannah. What's that ! Who spoke ? Who said my 
boy turned out bad? 

Mary. Nobody, mother. Don't mind that man. He's 
deceived himself. It's Henry Douglas. 

Hannah. Henry Douglas? What does he know 
about my Will ? 

Douglas. Too much. He has deceived me. I thought 
him a true, noble boy ; but he robbed me. 

Enter Jarius, c. 

Jarius. (Aside.) Jes' so. He's got to work. Where 
on airth is that Ned ? 

Hannah. Robbed you ! My Will ? 'Tis false ! 
Douglas. I'm sorry to say 'tis true. 
Mary. Mr. Douglas, have you no pity? 



324 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

Douglas. You would have it so, Mary. I am not to 
blame. 

Jarius. (Aside.) Consarn it, why don't that boy 
come. (He fidgets in the doorway, looking off, and then 
watching Douglas.) 

Douglas. Yes, Mrs. Nutter ; I am sorry to distress 
you ; but 'tis best you know the truth. While in my 
employ, Will robbed me of two hundred dollars. 

Hannah. No, no ; you are mistaken. My boy, my 
noble boy ! I'll not believe it. 

Jarius. (Aside.) Consarn his ugly picter I I shall 
split ! Where is that boy? 

Douglas. Yes, he robbed me ; forged my name to a 
check. 'Tis here. (Showing check.) 

Hannah. O, Heavens ! My boy ! my boy I 

Douglas. Drew the money from the bank — 

(Ned appears, c. Gives Jarius a telegram.) 

Mary. Villain, you are killing her. — Mother, 'tis 
false T'tis false ! 

Douglas. 'Tis true. • I can prove it. 

Jarius. (Coming down c, with telegram.) Jes' so. 
(Snatches the check.) Phoenix Bank: two hundred dol- 
lars. Humbug ! that's no forgery. 

Douglas. No forgery? Is not that my name? 

Jarius. Jes' so. But here's a little telegram from the 
Phoenix Bank. (Beads.) " Have examined the books. 
Henry Douglas never had funds in our bank." 

Douglas. Fool ! what business have you to meddle in 
this matter ? 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 325 

Jarius. Why, bless your soul, I'm one of the direc- 
tors in that air Phoenix. 

Douglas. Confusion ! 

Jarius. Jes' so. Mrs. Nutter, don't be scart. Will's 
all right on that p'int. 

Hannah. I knew he was. Poor boy, he has enemies 
who would rob him of his good name. 

Jarius. Jes' so. But this ere sneak didn't make much 
of a speck when he tried it on. Mr. Douglas, I'd git 
eout if I was in yeour place. 

Douglas. Mr. Jarius Jordan, your bare assertion that 
you are a director in this bank will not serve. I still 
hold my charge of forgery against Will Nutter. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Well, you hold it. It won't hurt 
anybody if it goes off; but I'm inclined to think it'll kick 
like thunder. 

Enter John, l. 

John. Ah, Douglas ! I've been up to see you. I'm 
all anxiety to hear from the Carom stock. Has it gone up ? 

Douglas. No ; but the mine has. 

John. Gracious Heaven ! Then I am ruined! (Sinlcs 
into chair L. of table, and buries his face in his hands.) 

Douglas. Yes, old man, you've nothing left but your 
house and shop ; and they must go to repay me. 

John. What ! You will not close on me ? 

Douglas I must. I want the money. 

John. Why, you told me you would wait ; that when 
you married Mary you would give it up. Won't you 
wait? 

Douglas. No ; that would be too long. 



326 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Mary., I shall never marry him, father. 

John. But you must — you shall. I'll iiave no diso- 
bedience. 

Hannah. Father, father, Mary is a good girl. Don't 
speak of disobedience. 

John. She shall marry Henry Douglas. 

Douglas. Never, John Nutter ! I would not marry 
your daughter were she" at my feet entreating me to take 
her to my arms. {Folds his arms.) She's not my style. 

John. What, you miserable whelp ! Do you know where 
you are — who you are speaking to ? You have entreated 
me to give her to you ; you have begged me to exert 
my power, and drive her to your arms ; and, now that 
you have me in your power, you dare to insult her ! Vil- 
lain, I'll strangle you ! (Bushes at Douglas.) 

Jarius. (Bushing between.) Hold on. Keep cool, 
Mr. Nutter. 

Douglas. I want nothing that belongs to you, old 
man, but my money ; that I will have. Pay me one 
thousand dollars, or I take immediate possession of your 
property. 

John. O, I am justly served ! I listened to your 
voice, embarked in speculation, turned against my daugh- 
ter's love, and now, in my old age, must wander forth 
without a home. 

Douglas. It's rather hard. Keep the home, and pay 
the money. It's easy enough. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Pay the money, and let the sneak 
go. 

John. How can I ? I haven't a cent in the world, 

Jarius. Jes' so. Where's the little brown jug? 



THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 327 

Mary. Alas, that is empty ! 

Jarius. Sho ! Let's have a look at it. 

John. 'Tis useless. I haven't put a copper into il for 
a year. Everything has gone to that villain. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Let's see the jug for old acquaint- 
ance' sake. (Exit, Mary, l.) It's a bad thing to give 
up putting away a little somethin' for a rainy day, ain't it, 
Mrs. Nutter? 

Hannah. Yes. John always did save until that 
Henry Douglas showed him*how to spend. 

Jarius. Jes' so. It's a great pity. I could tell you 
a story about a boy I knowed. 

Hannah. A boy ! What boy ? 

Jarius. Why, how bright you are looking, Mrs. Nut- 
ter ! Guess you feel better. 

Douglas. Well, is my money coming ? 

Jarius. Hold on. Don't git into a sweat. I want to 
tell yer about that air boy. Yer see, about a year ago 
I came across a poor chap, who'd run down hill awful 
fast ; he'd got into temptation, and tripped. A good deal 
like your boy, Mrs. Nutter. 

Hannah. My Will? He was a good boy. He's a 
mau to-day. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Wal, this here chap wanted work. 
He was as penitent as could be ; so I set him to work 
among agricultural implements, as a sort of salesman, 
paid him fair wages, and a smarter chap you never 
see. I noticed he never spent much, and so one day 
I asked him what he did with his savings. He didn't 
like to tell at first ; but arter a while he told me that his 
daddy had a kind of saving-up place — a sugar-bowl, or 



828 THE LITTLE BEOWN JUG. 

a coffee-pot, or a jug, some where, and he used to walk 
off every Saturday night ten miles, creep into the house, 
and put it away in the old ju— savings bank. Wal, I 
had a reapin' machine that I had a patent onto, that I 
thought a heap on ; but, somehow, it wouldn't work. 
When they got the horses in, and a boy on top of it, 
and started the thing off, for a little while 'twould go 
first rate ; when, all at once, there'd be a h'ist and spill, 
and machine, and horse, and boy would all be mixed up 
in a heap. It was a bust. Wal, that air boy would look, 
and look, and look at that machine, and one day he says 
to me, " I've found what's the matter." And I'll be 
hanged if he hadn't. I was so tickled that I jest drew 
my check for a thousand dollars, and made him a pres- 
ent of it ; and I'll be bound that air check is in the old 
gentleman's little brown jug. 

Mary. {Outside.) O, father! mother! {Runs in, 
l., icith jug, followed by Sally.) The jug ! the jug ! 
It's heaped full of bank notes. {Emptying it upon 
table.) 

Sally. Heaps and heaps! 

John. Bank notes, and — What's this? {Takes up 
check.) A check ! " Pay to William Nutter, or order, 
one thousand dollars." Signed, " Jarius Jordan." Jor- 
dan, is this your work ? 

Jarius. Look at the back. 

John. {Beads.) " William Nutter." My son ! 

Hannah. Our Will! My boy! O, Jarius Jordan ! 
what does this mean ? 

Jarius. It means glory! Hallelujah! Fourth of July ! 
Kingdom come! It's a grand emancipation jubilee. The 



THE LTTTLE BROWN JUG. 329 

boy Tve been telling yoa about is the same boy that vil- 
lain, Henry Douglas, led into temptation, whom he 
charged with forgery, whom I took in hand, set straight, 
and who to-day is a man indeed — your son "Will, Mrs. 
Nutter. 

Hannah. I know it, I know it. He's saved us, he's 
saved us ! O, where is he ? "Where is my boy ? 

Enter "Will, c. 

Will. Here, mother, here's your own boy again. 

Hannah. (Screams.) O, "Will ! "Will ! I knew you'd 
come ! I knew you'd come ! (Runs into his arms.) 

John. "Will, welcome home ! (Takes Ms hand.) Ev- 
erything is forgotten and forgiven. I'm proud to welcome 
my son home again. 

Will. Home, father, spite of the craft of that man 
whom I once called friend. It is ours still. — Mary, 
sister ! 

Mary. Dear, dear "Will, a thousand times welcome ! 
(Clasps his hand.) 

Will. Ah, sister, I have missed you all. Thank 
Heaven, I am once more able to meet you without a blush 
of shame. 

Ned. Here's your old chum, "Will ; can you spare a 
hand for him ? 

Will. (Giving both hands to Ned. Mary leads her 
mother to lounge.) Ah, Ned, you have much to forgive. 
That cruel blow with the little brown jug ! 

Ned. Don't speak of it. You don't know how much 
good it did me. Does he, Mary? 

Jariu&. Jes' so. If it did you any good, give the 



330 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

credit where it belongs — to Henry Douglas, for he 
struck the blow. 

Douglas. 'Tis false. 

Jarius. It's the truth, for I saw the act. I didn't tell 
on it, for I wanted a p'int agin Douglas. To-niorow I 
shall make a charge of assault with intent to kill. It's 
hung two years, but I guess it's strong enough to do 
some execution. 

Douglas. You have no witnesses. Your charge will 
fall to the ground, Mr. Jarius Jordan. You have out- 
witted me, but you must confess I have plotted safely. 
There's not a point you've found to convict me of crime. 
You are rather keen. Try it. If I have failed in my at- 
tempt to ruin the family of the renowned shoemaker, John 
Nutter, I have still the satisfaction of retiring from the 
field with a very handsome profit in the shape of your check 
for a thousand dollars, which I shall expect to receive be- 
fore night. Good day, all. Nutter, I leave you to join 
the hands of your daughter and her accomplished lover. 
Give them your blessing, and send me a card. (At door.) 
Ha, ha, farewell to Cobbler's Paradise ! [Exit, C. 

Sally. (Runs up to door.) Good riddance to bad 
rubbish. 

Jarius. Sally, Sally, don't do that. (Buns after her, 
and brings her down C.) 

Sally. Jarius Jerden, if there's a Yankee angel, you're 
the critter. 

Jarius. Sally, I want to ask you — that is — I'm go- 
ing to — Consarn it ! Sally, will you marry me? Phew f 
it's out at last I 



THE LITTLE BEOTVN JUG. 331 

Sally. Of course I will. I would five years ago, if 
you'd only had the spunk to ask me. 

Jarius. Jes' so. I've been a donkey. But them 
words did stick in my wizzen awful. 

Hannah. (Bising.) Law sakes, Mary, don't try to 
keep me on this sofa. I ain't a bit sick. I'm just as 
well as you are ; and if I don't dance at your weddin', 
it'll be because I hain't got a partner. 

Will. You shall not want for partners, mother. I 
claim the privilege of opening the ball with you. 

Hannah. And you shall, Will. Law, my ! how hand- 
some you have grown ! 

John. Hasn't he, mother ! This is a proud day 
for us. 

Hannah. Yes, indeed ; for Will's a man to-day. 

Will. And, if I am, I owe it all to one who, in the 
dark hour, took me by the hand and led me into the light. 
Ah, many a poor boy who has been led into temptation 
might be saved from a miserable life if a friendly hand 
were stretched forth, and a warning word kindly given, 
as they were to me by Jarius Jordan — Heaven bless 
him ! 

Hannah. Ay, Heaven bless you, Jarius. You have 
made a mother's heart happy in the gift of her boy, re- 
claimed from sin. May all you seek be yours. 

Jarius. Jes' so — which is Sally. I've got her. As 
there's likely to be a matrimonial convention in this house 
pretty soon, I appint myself a delegate. 

Sally. Second the motion. 

John. Ned, I withdraw all objections to your propo- 
sal regarding Mary. 



332 THE LITTLE BROWN JUG. 

Ned, Thank you, Mr. Nutter. — Mary, are you going 
to make me happy? 

Mary. I'm going to try, Ned. And where there's a 
will there's a way, you know. 

Will. Mother, you don't know how happy I feel to 
be with you again, to see the old home, everything about 
the room so familiar ; even the little brown jug has a 
familiar look. It was my first temptation. 

Jarius. Yes, boy, it was a family temptation. I 
knowed it would work trouble. Ah, if the liquid poison 
that slays was never allowed to show itself in the home, 
there would be fewer desolate hearthstones, fewer blighted 
lives. 

John, You're right, Jarius. When that boy fell, it 

opened my eyes, and not a drop of liquor shall ever enter 

my doors. 

Jarius. Jes' so. Stick to it, John Nutter. It was a 

bad speck. It turned your boy adrift ; but, thanks to a 

mother's love, he fought and conquered. 

Will. (Comes up and takes Jarius's hand.) Thanks 
to you, thanks to you ! 

Jarius. Wal, I dunno — 

Hannah. ( Comes and takes Jarius's other hand.) 
Jes' so, Jarius, jes' so. 

TABLEAU. 

Jarius, c. Will clasping his right hand, Mrs. Nut- 
ter his left. John Nutter and Sally, r. Ned 
and Mart, l., arm-in-arm. 

CURTAIN. 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 



CHARACTERS. 

Silas Somerby, a Farmer, occasionally addicted to the 

bottle. 
Harry Holden, his right-hand Man. 
Bias Black, a Teamster. 
Pat Murphy, a Laborer. 
Johnny Somerby, Silas's Son. 
Rachel Somerby, his Wife. 
Sally Somerby, his Daughter. 



COSTUMES. 

Silas, dark pants, short, thick boots, yellow vest, a towel 
pinned about his neck, gray wig, face lathered. 

Harry, gray pants, blue shirt, black neckkerchief, dark coat. 

Bias, thick boots, blue frock, woolly wig, black face, long whip. 

Pat Murphy, in shirt sleeves, blue overalls, cap, wig. 

Johnny, close-cut hair, pants of his father's, rolled up at bot- 
tom, drawn up very high with suspenders, thin coat, short and 
open, very broad brimmed straw hat. 

Rachel and Sally, neat calico dresses. 

Scene. — Room in Somerby's House. Old-fashioned 

sofa, R. ; table, C, laid for breakfast, Harry seated 

r. of table, eating ; rocking-chair, r. c. Sally seated, 

L., shelling peas or faring apples. Entrances, r., i,., 

and c. 

333 



334 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Sally. (Singing.) 

" Roll on, silver moon, 

Guide the traveller his way, 
While the nightingale's song is in tune ; 

For I never, never more 

With ray true love shall stray 
By the sweet, silver light of the moon." 

Harry. Beautiful, beautiful ! " There's music in 
that air." Now take a fresh roll, and keep me company 
while I take another of your mother's delicious fresh 
rolls. 

Sally. Making the sixth you have devoured before 
my eyes ! 

Harry. Exactly. What a tribute to her cooking ! 
She's the best bred woman in the country. Her pies are 
miracles of skill ; her rolls are rolls of honor ; her golden 
butter is so sweet, it makes me sweet upon her. 

Sally. Well, I declare, Harry Holden, that's poetry ! 

Harry. Is it ? Then hereafter call me the poet of the 
breakfast table. My lay shall be seconded with a fresh 

egg- 

Salty. Another ? Land sakes ! you think of nothing 

but eating. 

Harry. Exactly, when I'm hungry. My hunger once 
appeased, I think of this good farm — the broad fields, 
mowing, haying, the well-fed cattle, and sometimes, when 
I am very hungry, I think of the time when I leaned 
over the fence, and gazed enchanted upon the pretty girl 
milking her cow — whose name was Sally. 

Sally. Eh — the cow ? 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 335 

Harry. Now, Sally, don't destroy the poetry of my 
language. 

Sally. Don't be ungrammatical, Harry ; and do stop 
talking nonsense. 

Harry. I will, for my breakfast is finished, and I can 
talk to you no longer. I'm off. (Sings.) 

" For to reap and to sow, 
To plough and to mow, 
And to be a farmer's boy." 

(Bises.) Ah, I little dreamed, two years ago, when I 
was playing the fine gentleman at Squire Jordan's, — a 
city swell, up in the country here on a vacation, — that I 
should soon become a farmer. 

Sally. Are you sorry it is so, Harry ? 

Harry. (Comes down, places a cricket beside Sally, 
and sits on it.) Sorry, you gypsy, when it has made a 
man of me ? No. It has been my salvation. I have a 
fortune left me, and was in a fair way of squandering it 
in all the vices of the city ; had acquired a taste for hot 
suppers, fine wines, gambling, and all sorts of dissipa- 
tion ; was on the high road to ruin, when some good 
angel sent me up here. I saw you, and was saved. 

Sally. And you are perfectly contented with your sit- 
uation ? 

Harry. Well, no, I'm not. In fact, I'm getting very 
much dissatisfied. 

Sally. Not with me, Harry? 

Harry. With you? Bless your dear little heart! 
you're the only satisfaction I have. When I asked the 
old gentleman — your father — to give you to me, two 



336 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

years ago, he said, " No, young man. Though I've no 
doubt you love my Sally, you've got too much money. 
You never worked a day in your life. Suppose your 
wealth should take to itself wings some day, what's to 
become of her? She shall be a farmer's wife, or die an 
old maid. You say you would die for her. Go to work, 
learn to run a farm, bring out your muscle, get some color 
in that pale face, get rid of your vices, and then, if your 
money goes, you've the power to earn a living, and a 
smart wife to help you." 

Sally. That's just what he said, and 'twas good ad- 
vice. 

Harry. It was, though I did not think so at the time. 
But I took it, hired out to him, and now thank my good 
fortune for the copy he set me. 

Sally. And everybody says there's not a more likely 
farmer in the neighborhood than you. 

Harry. Much obliged to everybody. But, Sally, I 
think your father is a little selfish. 

Sally. Don't abuse father. He's the most generous 
man — 

Harry. I know. But I've grown valuable to him. 
And now, when I ask him to let me marry you, he " hems " 
and " haws," and says, " Don't be in a hurry. Have 
patience." He knows that the moment you are my wife, 
I shall pack up and be off; and that's what's the matter. 

Sally. It will all come right one of these days. 

Harry. I suppose it will. But it don't come right 
now. I tell you, Sally, I'm going to have an answer this 
very day, or to-morrow I'm off. 

Sally. Off? And leave me ? 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 337 

Harry. O, no. Take you with me. You love me — 
don't you, Sally? 

Sally. You know I do, Harry. 

Harry. Then marry me. I'll make you the happiest 
woman in the world. I'll carry you to an elegant home, 
and scatter money in every direction, to bring around you 
luxuries and enjoyments. 

Sally. No, Harry ; I could enjoy nothing, leaving my 
father without his consent. I have always tried to be a 
good daughter. He would be very angry, should I dis- 
obey him, and no good fortune would follow me. No, 
Harry. Be patient. There's a good time coming. 

Harry. Yes, it's always coming. But I shall ask his 
consent to-day. 

Sally. Do, Harry. I hope he'll say yes, for you de- 
serve it. {Puts her arm about his neck.) 

Harry. And you deserve the best husband in the 
world, you gypsy. {Puts his arm round her waist, and 
kisses her.) 

Enter Johnny, c. 

Johnny. Christopher Columbus ! O, hokey ! (Sally 
and Harry jump up.) Did you hear it? 

Sally. Hear what? Why don't you frighten a body 
to death, and have done with it ! 

Johnny. Somebody fired off something close to my 
head. Blunderbuss, I guess. Did it hit you, Sally? 

Sally. I didn't hear anything. 

Johnny. Didn't you feel it ? Must have hit yer right 
in the mouth. It's awful red I 
22 



338 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 



Marry, Come, Johnny, there's enough of that. I don't 
like it. 

Johnny. Don't you, though? Thought you did. 
Seemed to take to it nat'ral nuff. "Where's dad? 

Sally. He is not up yet. (Sits and resumes her work. 
Harry goes to chair, back, and takes up his hat.) 

Johnny. Guess he's kinder sleepy after his jaunt to 
the city yesterday. Guess the coppers are hot ! O, won't 
he catch it? 

Marry. Why, what's the matter? 

Johnny. Matter ? Say, thought you was goin' down 
with me arter that woodchuck this mornin'. Don't see 
what a feller wants to fool away his time here with a gal 
for, when there's a woodchuek to be got so handy. 

Enter Mrs. Somerbt, l. 

Mrs. S. I'll woodchuck yer! (Taking him by the 
ear.) What d' ye mean by keeping out er the way all the 
morning — hey ? 

Johnny. O ! Quit, now ! You hurt ! 

Mrs. S. Hope I do. You jest stir out er this room 
till I've done with yer, if you dare ! (Sits in rocking- 
chair, and rocks violently.) Sakes alive ! It's enough to 
drive one ravin' distracted ! There's yer father sleeping 
like a log, and it's arter eight o'clock ! Where did you 
two critters go yesterday — hey ? 

Johnny. Went to the city, of course. 

Mrs. S. Yes, yer did go to the city with a load of live 
and dead stuff; and there's that man in there, with not a 
cent in his pocket to show for it. He'd a never got home 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 339 

at all if the brute in the shafts hadn't known more than 
the brute in the wagon. Drunk clean through ! 

Harry. What ! Has Mr. Somerby had anothei 
spree ? 

Mrs. S. I should think he had ! They come thicker 
and thicker. — You young one ! you speak up, and tell 
me what you know 'bout it, quick ! 

Johnny. "Well, all I know, dad an' I went to market. 
He sold off everything, and then sent me down to Scud- 
der's to git a new rake, and over to Jinks's for some 
sugar, and round to Stevens's to borry a screw-driver, cos 
something got loose. 

Mrs. S. Somethin' got loose ! I should think so ! 

Johnny. Said he'd wait till I come back. When I 
got back, he hadn't waited ; so I went tearin' round arter 
him. Man in a white hat said he saw him goin' down 
onto the wharf to see the elephant ; so I went down. Big 
crowd down there. They was a auctioneering off a lot 
of animals. Lion, tiger, and monkeys — Jemimy ! — by 
the dozen. Purty soon I spied dad. He was sprung. 

Mrs. S. Sprung ? For the land sakes ! what's that ? 
Not overboard? 

Johnny. Sprung — over the bay. 

Mrs. S. Over the bay ? Thought he was on the wharf. 
Now, don't yer lie, you young one ! 

Marry. He means he was in liquor. 

Mrs. S. More likely liquor in him. Why don't you say 
he was drunk, and have done with it ? 

Johnny. Well, he was pretty full ; and when I got 
there, he was leanin' up agin a hogshead, and biddin' on 
an elephant. 



340 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Mrs. S. On an elephant ! Why, he might have broke 
his neck ! 

Johnny. O, fush ! He was a biddin' for the elephant. 
He offered a hundred dollars. But I didn't see it ; so I 
jest took a hold er him, h'isted him inter the wagon, and 
drove back to Stevens's. When I come out, the wagon 
and dad were out of sight, aud I had to foot it ten miles* 
So I jest crept inter the barn when I got here, and had a 
snooze on the hay. 

Mrs. S. Dear me ! what capers ! Two or three times 
a year he has these sprees, and they cost a mint of money. 
There was apples and cider, hens and chickeus, eggs and 
butter, all gone. Dear me, what will become of us? If 
there's anything in this world I detest, it's a toper ! 

[Exit, l. 

Sally. Poor mother, she's in a fever of excitement. 
I'll try and get her to lie down. \ExiU l. 

Johnny. I say, Mr. Holden, it's purty hard sleddin* 
for marm — ain't it ? 

Harry. It is, indeed, Johnny ; and don't you make it 
any harder for her. Never touch a drop of liquor. 

Johnny. 0, don't you fret about me. I feel bad 
enough to see dad on these times. I'm a purty rough 
boy, but it does make me feel mean to see dad, who's 
such a smart old gent when he's sober, let himself out in 
this way. I've never touched a drop of liquor, aud you 
can bet your life I never will. 

Harry. That's right, Johnny. Drinking is the mean- 
est kind of enjoyment, and the dearest, too. I'm going 
to try and reform the old gentleman. 

Johnny. Are you? Well, you've got a big job. 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 341 

Harry. Perhaps not. His bidding for the elephant 
has given me an idea. 

Johnny. It gave me an idea he was purty far gone. 

Harry. Yes. We will make him believe he bought 
the elephant. 

Johnny. What good will that do? 

Harry. I" think we'll turn the animal into a temper- 
ance lecturer. Come with me. Let's see your mother 
and Sally, and arrange matters before your father ap- 
pears. 

Johnny, Yes. But I want ter go after the wood- 
chuck. 

Harry. Never mind him now. We've got bigger 
game — the elephant. [Exit, l. 

Enter , slowly, r., Silas, with a razor in his hand. 

Silas. I'm in an awful state. My hand shakes so I 
can't shave ; my throat is all on fire, my head splitting, 
and I feel mean enough to steal. Wonder how I got 
home ! Guess I've been and made a fool of myself. I 
ain't got a copper in my pocket ; and I know when I sold 
out I had over a hundred dollars in my wallet. ( Takes 
out wallet.) Looks now as though an elephant had 
stepped on it. An elephant? Seems to me I saw one 
yesterday in teown. Jest remember biddin' for him at 
auction. Lucky I didn't buy him. 'Twas that plaguy 
" Ottawa beer " set me goin'. Well, I s'pose I shall catch 
it from the old lady. But it's none of her business. 
'Twas my sarse and my live stock, and I've a right to do 
jest what I please with it. 



342 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Enter Mrs. Somerbt, l. 

Mrs. S. Silas Somerby ! are you a man, or are you 
a monster ? 

Silas. Hey ? Ha, ha ! Yes, I don't look »i ery spruce, 
that's a fact. The water was cold, and the razor dull, 
and — and — 

Mrs. S, And your hand shakes so you can't shave. 
O, Silas, Silas ! At your time of life ! I blush for you ! 

Silas. O, bother, now ! What are you frettin' 'bout ? 
I ain't killed anybody, or robbed anybody's house — 
have I? 

Mrs. S. You've done somethin' as bad. You've been 
on a spree, and squandered every cent you had in your 
pocket. 

Silas. S'pose I did? Ain't a hard-working man a 
right to enjoy himself once in a while, I'd like to know? 
Now you jest shet up ! I'm the master of this farm, 
and if I choose to show a liberal spirit once in a while, 
and help along trade by spreading a little cash about, it 
ain't for you to holler and " blush — " 

Mrs. S. Silas Somerby ! 

Silas, Shet up ! if you don't, I'll harness up old Jack, 
and clear out. 

Mrs. S. For another spree ? O, you wretch ! ain't 
you ashamed of yourself, to set sich an example to the 
young uns ? And that critter you sent home ! Do you 
want us to be devoured ? 

Silas. Critter ! critter ! What critter ? 

Mrs. S. O, you know well enough ; and I guess you'll 
find you've made a poor bargain this time. I always told 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 343 

you rum would be your ruin ; and if you don't see the 
poorhouse staring you in the face afore night, I'm very 
much mistaken. 

Enter Harry, l. 

Silas. What on airth are yer talking about ? Are yer 
crazy, or have yer been drinking? 

Harry. (Gomes down between them.) Hush ! not a 
word ! We must not let anybody know you are in the 
house ! 

Silas. Hey ! what ails you ? Got a touch of the old 
lady's complaint? 

Harry. Hush ! Not so loud ! We must be cautious. 
Sheriff Brown is looking for you ; but I've put him off 
the scent. 

Silas. Then oblige me by putting me on it. What's 
the matter? Why is the sheriff looking for me? 

Harry. Hush ! Not so loud ! It's all about Mm. 
(Pointing over his left shoulder.) 

Silas. Him ! him ! Consarn his picter ! who is him ? 

Harry. Hush ! Not so loud ! I've got him locked 
up in the barn. He got into the melon beds ; they're 
gone : then into the cucumbers ; he's pickled them all. 
But I've got him safe now. 

Enter Johnny, l. 

Johnny. By Jinks !• the critter's hauled the sleigh 
down from the rafters ; broke it all to smash I 



344 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Enter Sally, l. 

Sally. O, mother, he's stepped into your tub of eggs, 
and there ain't a whole one left. 

Mrs. S. I told you so. O, Silas, how could you? 

Silas. Are you all crazy? Who has trampled the 
melons? Who has pickled the cucumbers? Who has 
smashed the sleigh? And who has sucked the eggs? I 
pause for a reply. 

All. {In chorus.) Your elephant ! 

Silas. My elephant ? My elephant ? Pooh ! Non- 
sense ! I don't own any such critter. . 

Johnny. Say, dad, have yer forgotten the auction yes- 
terday — the tiger, and the monkey, and the elephant? 

Silas. What? Stop ! O, my head ! It must be so. 
Did I buy that elephant? 

Marry. He is in the barn, Mr. Somerby. 

Silas. I'm a ruined man ! {Sinks into chair l. of ta- 
ble.) Is he alive? 

Mrs. S. He ought to be, with half a ton of hay in- 
side him. 

Silas. O, my hay ! my hay ! 

Johnny. And a barrel of turnips. 

Silas. O, ruin ! ruin ! 

Sally. And a whole basket of carrots. 

Silas. I'll shoot him ! I'll shoot him ! 

Johnny. That's easier said than done, dad. Them 
critters die hard ; and we ain't got the cannon to bombard 
him with. 

Harry. Come, Johnny, let's look after him. I'm 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 345 

afraid he will get into more mischief. Will you have a 
look at him, Mr. Somerby ? 

Silas. Look at him ? Never ! Find me a way to get 
rid of him, quick ! 

Marry. That's not such an easy matter. Nobody 
would take the gift of him ; and nobody but a fool would 
buy him. 

Mrs. S. That's a fact. O, my eggs ! my eggs ! Eighty 
dozen, all ready for market ! 

Sally. Law sakes ! that elephant has made me forget 
the breakfast things. (Clears away the table, carrying 
things off, l.) 

a. 

Harry. I suppose you want him to have plenty of 
hay? 

Silas. (Fiercely.) Feed him till he splits, or dies of 
indigestion ! [Exit Harry, l. 

Johnny. Say, dad, he'll be grand, if we can only put 
him to the plough. 

Silas. (Fiercely.) Clear out, yer jackanapes ! 

[Exit Johnny, l. 

Mrs. S. I'll go and look after the poultry. If he gets 
in among 'em, good by to Thanksgiving. It's all right, 
Silas. It's a pretty big critter to have about ; but it 
shows " a liberal spirit " — don't it? [Exit, l. 

Silas. Shut up ! Clear out ! — Wal, I guess I brought 
home a pretty big load last night, accordin' to the looks 
of things. Now, what on airth set me on to buy that 
elephant? Must have been the Ottawa beer. What on 
airth shall I do with him ? He'll eat us out of house and 
home. If I kill him, there's an end of it. No, the be- 
ginnin', for we'd have to dig up the whole farm to bury 



346 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

him. But he must be got rid of somehow O, Somerby, 
you've a long row to hoe here ! 

Enter Harry, l. 

Harry. Now, sir, let us look this matter calmly in the 
face. (Sitsn. of table.) 

Silas. What matter ? 

Harry. Well, suppose we call it " consequential dam- 
ages. 

Silas. Call it what you like. It's a big critter, and 
should have a big name. 

Harry. You don't understand me. I told you Sheriff 
Brown was looking for you. There are about a dozen 
complaints lodged against you already. This is likely to 
be a costly affair. 

Silas. Sheriff Brown — complaints — costly affair! 
Why, what do you mean? Isn't it bad enough to be 
caught with an elephant on your hands ? 

Harry. Well, your elephant, not being acquainted in 
this part of the country, got out of the road a little in 
travelling towards his present quarters. For instance, he 
walked into Squire Brown's fence, and carried away about 
a rod of it. 

Silas. You don't mean it ! 

Harry. And, in endeavoring to get back to the road, 
walked through his glass house, and broke some glass. 

Silas. Goodness gracious ! 

Harry. Mr. Benson's flower garden, being near the 
road, was hastily visited by his highness, and a. few of 
the rare plants will flourish no more. 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 347 

Silas. O, my head ! Is that all? 

Harry. No, for Mrs. Carter was on the road with 
her span. On the appearance of the great hay-eater, one 
of the horses dropped dead. 

Silas. O, ruin, ruin ! Why didn't the elephant keep 
him company ? 

Harry. These parties have made complaint, and will 
sue you for damages. There are other disasters connected 
with the entry of your pet — 

Silas* Don't mention 'em. Don't speak of any more. 
There's enough now to ruin me. Broken fences, smashed 
hot-houses, ruined flower beds, and a dead horse ! 

Harry. Consequential damages. 

Silas. Consequential humbugs ! I am the victim of 
a conspiracy. I don't own an elephant. I won't own 
him. I never bought him. He's escaped from a me- 
nagerie. Why should I buy an elephant? 

Harry. That won't do, Mr. Somerby. You were 
seen at the auction ; you were heard to bid for the animal. 
I'm afraid you will have to suffer. 

Silas. I won't pay a cent. They may drag me to 
jail, torture me with cold baths and hot irons ; but not a 
cent will I pay for the capers of that elephant. 

Enter Bias Black, l. 

Bias. Hay! What's dat? Am yer. gwine to 'pudi- 
ate, Massa Somebody? Gwine back on de ber — ber — 
bullephant — am yer ? 

Silas. What's the matter with you, Bias Black ? 

Bias. Wal, I speck a heap, Massa Somebody. Dat 



348 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

ar bullephant of yourn has driben dis indervideral inter 
bankrupturicy. Dar's been a reg'lar smash up ob his 
commercial crisis, and de wabes ob affliction are rollm' 
into dis yer bussom. 

Silas. Now, yeou black imp, talk English, or walk 
Spanish, quick ! What do yeou want ? 

Bias. Want damages, heavy damages ; dat's what I 
want, Massa Somebody. 

Silas. Damages for what? 

Bias. Wal, hold yer hush, an' I'll tell yer. Las' night 
I was gwine along de road, see, wid my hoss and wagon 
chock full, an' ole Missey Pearson sittin' alongside ob me 
— picked her up in de road. Pore ole lady ! Guess she 
won't ax any more rides ! An' jes' when I got by Square 
Jones's door, den dar was an airthquake, by golly ! Some- 
thin' took right hole ob de tail-board. Felt somethin' 
h'ist. Knowed 'twas a shock ; and de nex' ting I knowed, 
I was up in a tree ! Missey Pearson was h'isted onto de 
fence, an' dat ar bullephant was a chasin' dat ar hoss 
ober de wagon, an' a trampin' round an' chawin' up things 
fine, I tell yer. Golly ! such a mess ! Dat's what de 
matter. Lost eberyting. Wouldn't a taken sebenty-five 
dollars for dat ar wagon. An' dat ole lady, guess she's 
shook all to pieces. 

Silas. And you expect me to pay for this ! 

Bias. Ob course, ob course. If old gents will sow 
dar wild oats wid bullephants, dey must expect to pay 
for de thrashin'. Sebenty-five dollars for de wagon, six- 
ty-seben dollars and ninepence for de goods, an' about 
fifty dollars for de scare to dat pore ole hoss. I'll trow 
de ole lady in. 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 349 

Silas. I'll throw yeou inter the horse-pond, yeou black 
imp ! Not a dollar will yeou get from me. 

Bias. Hey ! You won't pay ? Den I'll hab de law. 
Yes, sir. I'll hab a jury set onto you, an' — an' — an' — 
a judge, and two or three habus corpuses. You can't 
fool dis chile, Dar want no muzzle on de bullephant, an' 
it's agin de law. 

Silas. Well, go to law. I shan't pay a cent. 

Enter Pat Murphy, l. 

Pat. Where's the kaper of the brute, I'd like to know ? 
Where's the hathin that sinds wild bastes a rarin' an' a 
tarin' into the paceful quarthers of the globe? 

Silas. What's the matter with yeou, Pat Murphy? 

Pat. Aha, owld gint, 'tis there ye are. It's a mighty 
foine scrape yer in this time, wid yer drinkin' an' rol- 
lickin'. 

Silas. Come, come, Pat Murphy, keep a civil tongue 
in your head. 

Pat. O, blarney ! It's an ondacent man ye are, by 
me sowl ! Wasn't I sittin' on my own doorstep last night, 
a smokin' my pipe genteelly, wid de childers innercently 
amusin' theirselves a throwin' brickbats at one another, 
an' Biddy a washin' in the yard (as beautiful a picture 
of domestic felicity as ye don't often say), when an 
oogly black snout kim over the fence, an', afore ye could 
spake, away wint the fence, an' away wint Biddy into the 
tub, an' the childers into the pig-pen, an' mesilf ilevated 
to the top of the woodshed by that same oogly black 
baste ! 



350 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Harry. Ah, the elephant on another frolic ! 

Pat. Frolic — is it? Bedad, it must be paid for, ocy 
how. An' so, owld gint, I'll jist throuble yez for the 
damages — to mesilf, a broken constitution, Biddy, a 
wake's washin' intirely spoiled, and the childers, bliss 
their dirthy faces ! for a scare, an' the fright to the pig, 
an* the broken fence. Come down, owld gint. Them as 
jig must pay the piper. 

Bias. Das a fac', das a fac\ Down wid de dust, ole 
gint, for de dust dat ar bullephant kicked up. 

Silas. Never ! Not a cent ! Get out of my house ! 
You're a pair of knaves. There is no elephant about 
here. It's all a lie. I won't be swindled. Get out, I 
say! 

Pat. Knave ! Look to yersilf, owld gint. It's not 
dacent for the likes of yez to call names. A lie ? Troth, 
I'll jist bring Biddy, and the childer to tistify to the truth 
— so I will. 

Silas. Shut up ! Clear out ! If you want damages, 
you can have them. I'm getting my dander up, and shall 
sartinly damage both of yer. 

Bias. Don't you do it, don't you do it. De law will 
fix you, old gent. 

Pat. Begorra, I'll spind me intire fortune, but I'll 
have justice. 

Silas. Are you going ? 

Pat. To a lawyer, straight. I blush for yez, owld 
gint, I blush for yez. [Exit, L. 

Bias. Dat ar wagon, and dat ar hoss, and dem ar 
goods, and de ole lady must be repaired. So de law 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 351 

• 

will tell yez, Massa Somebody. Das a fac', das a 
fac\ [Exit, l. 

Harry, This looks like a serious business, Mr. Som- 
erby. 

Silas, Confound it, so it does ! What can I do ? Must 
I pay all these damages ? 

Marry, I see no way for you to escape. 

/Silas. What a fool I have been ! For a few hours' 
fun I've got myself into this scrape. Why,, 'twill ruin 
me. I can never raise the money. 

Harry, O, yes, you can, Mr. Somerby. I have plenty. 
You'd better settle this matter at once, and draw on me 
freely for money. 

Silas. Draw on you ? What right have I to do that ? 

Harry. Give your consent to my marriage with Sally, 
and I shall consider you have the right. More, I will 
hunt up these claims, and settle them at once. 

Silas. Will you ? You're a splendid fellow ! Help 
me out, if you can ; and, if I can get rid of that ele- 
phant — 

Harry, On one condition I will take him off your 
hands. 

Silas, Take him off my hands ? Name your condition. 

Harry, That you will give me your solemn promise 
never to touch liquor again. 

Silas. What ! Give up my freedom ? 

Harry. No ; be free. You are now the slave of an 
old custom, " more honored in the breach than the ob- 
servance." Don't let it master you again. Don't let my 
wife blush for her father. 

Silas. I won't ! There's my hand. Sally is yours ; 



352 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

• 
and I solemnly promise never to break (smash of crock' 
ery, l.) — Hullo! What's that? 

Mrs, S. (Outside, l.) O, the monster! Drive him 
out! 

Sally. (Outside, l.) He won't go. Run, mother, 
run ! (Crash.) 

Mrs. S. (Outside, i..) He's sp'ilt my best dishes ! O, 
the beast ! (Enter, l.) O, Silas, this is all your work. 
That hateful critter's got into the kitchen. 

Enter Sally, l. 

Sally. O, mother ! Harry ! father ! He's coming 
this way ! Save us, save us ! ( Gets under table.) 

Mrs. S. Goodness gracious ! he'll set the house afire ! 
(Gets behind sofa.) 

Enter Johnny, l. 

Johnny. Help ! murder ! O, I've had a h'ist ! He's 
breaking up housekeeping — you bet ! 

Marry. Be calm, be calm. There's no danger. 

Mrs. S> We shall all be eaten alive. O, the monster ! 

Silas. Confound him, I'll pepper him ! Let me get 
my gun ! (Going, r.) 

Harry. No, no. 'Twould be dangerous to shoot. 

Johnny. Let him have a dose, dad. 

Harry. No, no. Silence ! He's here ! 

Enter, l., Pat and Bias, as the elephant. \_For description 
of its manufacture, see note on page 92.] It enters 
slowly, passes across stage at bach, and exit, b. 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 353 

Mrs. S. O, the monster ! 

Sally. He's gone straight into the parlor. He'll 
smash everything. O, my vases, my vases ! 

Silas. (Aside.) Confound the critter, I'll have one 
shot at him. [Exit, E. 

Harry. (To Sally.) It's all right, Sally. I've got 
his promise. 

Sally. And we shall be married ! Ain't it jolly ? 

Mrs. S. But how on airth are you going to git out of 
this scrape? 

Marry. Leave that to me. Hush ! he's here. 

Enter Silas, r., with gun. 

Silas. I've had jest about enough of that air critter's 
society ; and if I don't pepper him, my name's not Silas 
Somerby. 

Marry. A gun ! (Aside.) This will never do. 
(Aloud.) Mr. Somerby, your life's in danger if you fire 
that gun. 

Silas. My dander's up, and I'm goin' in. 

Mrs. S. Silas, don't you shoot off that gun. I can't 
bear it. 

Sally. No, no, father ; you must not. 

Johnny. Don't mind 'em, dad ; blaze away. (Aside.) 
By jinks, that'll be fun ! (They all come forward.) 

Silas. I'm going to have a shot at the critter, if I die 
for it. Here he comes again. (Eaises gun.) 

Mrs. S. Mercy sakes, Silas, you'll kill somebody 1 

Marry. You must not shoot, I tell you 1 
23 



354 SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 

Sally. O, father, don't ! Please don't ! {They all seize 
him.) 

Johnny. Blaze away, dad ! Give him fits ! 

Silas. (Breaking away from them.) Stand back, I 
say. (Raises gun.) 

Enter the elephant, R. 

Silas. There, darn you ! (Fires. Sally and Mrs. 
S. scream.) 

Pat. O, murther, murther ! I'm kilt intirely ! 

Bias. Oo, oo, oo ! I'm a gone darky! (The ele- 
phant falls, rolls over, and from the debris Bias and Pat 
emerge, looking very much frightened.) 

Bat. (Shaking his fist at Silas.) More damages, 
be jabers ! (To Harry.) I didn't bargain for this at all. 

Bias. Look — look er here, old gent ; I ain't game, no 
how. Golly ! I'm full ob lead ! 

Silas. "What's this ? Have I been duped ? 

Johnny. Sold again, dad. 

Silas. So, so, you've been conspiring against me. 
There's no damages, and no elephant. This is your work, 
Harry Holden. 

Marry. It is, Mr. Somerby. I freely confess my sin. 
But I did it for a good purpose. 'Tis true* there is no 
elephant, save the imitation I have manufactured for the 
occasion ; but please remember we came very near having 
one. 

Johnny. Yes, dad, you bid a hundred dollars. 

Silas. I breathe again. You're right. All this might 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 355 

have been true, had my folly had its way. Thanks to 
Johnny, I was saved. Bat you carried the joke a little 
too far. That gun was loaded. 

Johnny. Only with powder. I left a charge in it last 
Fourth, for the blamed thing kicked so I was afraid of it. 

Silas. It's all right. Sally is yours, Harry, and I'll 
keep my other promise. I suppose these gentlemen were 
hired for the occasion. 

Pat. By me sowl, not to be peppered at all, at all. 

Bias. By golly, dat ar charge almost took away my 
head. 

Harry. So, boys, you got a little more than you bar- 
gained for ; but I'll fix that all right. 

Silas. I'll pay all damages there, glad to get off so 
easily in my adventure with the elephant. I've one re- 
quest to make. Don't let this story spread. 

Harry. You can rely upon my silence. 

Mrs. S. Marcy sakes, Silas, it ain't much to boast on ! 

Sally. It shall be a family legend. 

Pat. Be jabers, I wouldn't blab till I was deaf and 
dumb ! 

Bias. Dis yer pusson can hold his hush. 

Silas. Thank you. And you (to audience), can I de- 
pend upon you? The old man begins late, but he "is 
bound to reform ; and, if you but give your approbation, 
there is no fear of his backsliding. 

Johnny. I say, dad, hadn't you better put a postscript 
to that? 

Silas. Well, what is — (Johnny whispers to him.) 
Exactly. There is no fear of his backsliding, unless, at 



356 



SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 



your request, he should some time set out for the purpose 
of " Seeing the Elephant." 



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Note. 2%e Elephant. For this trick a well-known comical 
diversion can be introduced. Bias and Pat personate the ele- 
phant; one represents the fore, the other the hind legs. The 
two characters bend over, placing themselves one behind the 
other, as represented in the engraving. A blanket, doubled three 
or four times, is placed on their backs, with the addition of long 
cushions, if handy; these serve to form the back of the elephant. 
Two blankets or shawls are placed over this, the end of one 
twisted to represent his trunk, the end of the other twisted to 
represent his tail. Two paper cones enact the tusks, and the 
elephant is complete. 



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